


Drive

by patchfire, raving_liberal



Series: Story of Three Boys [45]
Category: Glee
Genre: Birthday, Brothership, First Time, Gen, M/M, Slash
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-02-13
Updated: 2012-02-17
Packaged: 2017-10-31 02:51:02
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 30,773
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/339058
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/patchfire/pseuds/patchfire, https://archiveofourown.org/users/raving_liberal/pseuds/raving_liberal
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A car and a birthday, the Brown epoch begins, fucking mac n' cheese, "I tried" (but I failed), baseball players behaving badly, and college news.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Teaser

**Author's Note:**

> Our continued love and devotion to **david_of_oz** for his meticulous attention to detail and for keeping us on the straight(ish) and narrow.

Finn goes ahead and knocks out what little bit of homework he has before dinner. Burt shouts up the stairs for him when it’s time to eat, so Finn puts everything back in his backpack and goes downstairs. Whatever his mom made, it smells kinda fishy and gross, and Finn figures that Kurt and Puck might have some commentary on it. He starts setting the table, when Burt tells him to put back the big plates. 

“Kurt and Puck aren’t here for dinner tonight,” Burt says. “Anyway, we need bowls. It’s some kind of fish stew stuff your mom found in her pregnancy cookbook.”

“Uh, yeah, that sounds, uh.” Finn puts back the big plates and gets down the bowls and the small plates. Fish stew actually sounds worse than it smells, and that’s saying something, because it sort of smells like the pet section of the Meijer. Kurt and Puck had the right idea about skipping out; if Finn had any warning, he’d have skipped out, too.

Finn, Carole, and Burt all sit down, and Finn ladles the smallest possible helping of fish stew into his bowl. “So how were your days?” Carole addresses both Finn and Burt. “Anything exciting?”

“Somebody brought a car into the shop today, and we found baby squirrels nesting under the hood,” Burt says. “Four of ’em.”

“Were they hurt?”

“They’re squirrels, Carole. Not kittens.”

“Their poor mother!”

“Don’t worry about the squirrels. They were properly taken care of,” Burt says. Finn notices Burt doesn’t say anything about them being _alive_ or, like, nurtured back to health, but Burt’s answer seems to make Finn’s mom happy at least.

“Oh, good.” Carole sighs and dips her bread into her fish stew. “And you, Finn? How was glee club?”

“It was good,” Finn says. “We sang our colors assignment songs. Santana did a song by Santana, so that was funny.”

Carole laughs. “That is funny. Oh!” Carole gets up to get herself a drink, and while her head is in the refrigerator, she keeps talking. “Isn’t the blood drive this week?”

“Uh. Yeah. This week, it’s this week.”

“Have you already given?” Carole straightens and turns to the cabinet to pull out a glass. 

“Well, uh, no, not, uh,” Finn starts to take a bite of his stew, then thinks better of it. “You know, not exactly.”

“‘I Tried’?” Burt reads the sticker on Finn’s shirt, the one Finn totally forgot he was wearing. “How do you _try_ to give blood?” Burt laughs. “You didn’t faint or something, did you?”

“I didn’t faint or anything,” Finn says. 

“Oh, Finn.” Carole turns around and sighs. “What happened?”

Finn waits for a moment before answering. “I answered the questions wrong.”

Burt snorts. “How’d you answer the questions wrong? They’re yes/no questions, aren’t they?”

“I just. I answered them wrong, ok?” Finn says. “I didn’t give the right answers and they told me I couldn’t give blood.”

Carole shakes her head. “I know some of them are confusingly worded, but honestly, Finn. I guess you could try again tomorrow.”

“I think they only let you try once. You can’t change your answers.”

“Well, next time, then.”

“Yeah, I guess so,” Finn says. “I guess I’ll get it figured out by next time.”

 

Santana checks her pony in the glass of the office door and raises an eyebrow at Alicia. “Good. Nice outfit, not too nice. Facial expression, she’ll like that.” Santana nods sharply once and then knocks on the door. 

“Come in,” Coach calls out. Santana opens the door and walks into the room, Alicia walking a step behind her. Coach is looking at something on her desk, and Santana straightens her shoulders just a little. 

“Coach, I found her.”

“I find that highly improbable, but leave her here, and I’ll stare at her until she cries,” Coach says, still not looking up from her notebook. 

“She won’t cry,” Santana says confidently. She smirks at Alicia and walks towards the door. “I’ll be waiting in the locker room so she can get changed.”

Alicia gapes at her for half a second, then turns back to Coach Sylvester with an expectant expression. Santana closes the door but leaves it open enough that she can see and hear both of them. Coach doesn’t really expect her to wait in the locker room. 

“What are your qualifications?” Coach asks, sounding like she really doesn’t care to hear them, but is only asking because she has nothing better to do.

“I live with the self-centered asshole known as Miles Brown, and you know what? I’m not the one that backs down,” Alicia shoots back. 

“At least that keeps me from having to repeat the pregnancy speech. What else?”

“I can keep the entire squad away from my brother, actually,” Alicia says with a bored shrug, and Santana wants to laugh delightedly. Oh yes, she’s perfect. “But that’s not really the point, is it? And you don’t want to know about my gymnastics or athletic ability, do you?”

“I don’t need you to tell me about those. That I know from looking at you. What do you think it is I _do_ want to know?”

“You want to know that the Cheerios will continue to be the undisputed leaders at this school. You’ve had trouble with that this year. One of your head Cheerios regularly lets herself be bested by the school’s HBIC who is _not_ on your squad and hasn’t been for two years. Your other head Cheerio got publicly humiliated, though admittedly that wasn’t necessarily her fault. Still. Your power slipped this year. You need to consolidate it again. You appoint a rising sophomore head cheerleader, and you’ve got three years set. Three years for me to find an appropriate replacement or two.”

The subsequent silence lasts for several minutes, before Coach finally calls out, “Hey, Eavesdropper O’Bubblebust. Get this girl into her uniform.”

“Yes, sir, Coach,” Santana responds, not surprised that Coach knew she was there. 

“Practice is four to ten.”

“Even Sunday?”

“We practice Thursday morning to make up for Sunday.”

Alicia nods. “I’ll see you this afternoon.” 

Coach glances up at Santana. “She’d better be everything you two have promised, or you’re back on the bottom of the pyramid for Nationals.”


	2. Destiny Right Here

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Miles Brown has an excellent plan.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Our continued thanks to **david_of_oz** for his editorial genius. This story is the result of **superninjagurl** asking for Miles Brown first time fic, so if you like it, you can thank her for it actually being written instead of just being subsumed into our headcanon. I  <3 my little lingonberry! 
> 
> Shameless PWP, pretty much, though some of it becomes oddly relevant later.

Miles walks into the center on Saturday feeling like a Boy Scout: really damn prepared. He’s got the supplies, and hell, he’s even got the beginnings of a plan. He just has to figure out how to get the ball rolling. Well, and he’s gotta find a willing participant, but from what that April girl and Kurt both said the first time he came out here with Shep and Cherry, that’s the least complicated part of the plan.

Speaking of April, she intercepts Miles before he’s barely even through the door.

“You came back,” she says. She doesn’t sound particularly impressed. 

“Yeah, well, what can I say?” Miles offers. “Nothing else to do this Saturday.”

“Where’s your cute friend?”

Miles grins. “Well, Cherry finally turned sixteen yesterday, so he’s probably out at the DMV taking his driving test right about now.”

April raises one eyebrow and gives Miles an appraising look. “I was talking about the big guy, Dwayne or Don or whatever.”

Miles can’t help but feel like that was a bit of a set up, but could be he’s just on edge, what with his great plan and all. Besides, nothing wrong with thinking Cherry’s cute, ’cause he is, and Shep is _so_ not Miles’ type, anyway. “Yeah, well, everybody’s got their preferences.”

“Some of us prefer not to see your face,” April retorts. 

“Aw, man! Did Kurt get to you, too? That’s harsh. That’s just harsh.”

April bursts out laughing, shaking her head. “Go Kurt!”

“Harsh. Thought this place was supposed to be _welcoming_ ,” Miles points out. “You are the worst damn greeter I’ve ever met. You couldn’t even work at Wal-Mart.”

“Why the fuck would I want to work there? Those uniforms are awful.”

“Yeah, well. Better brush up on your people skills, then,” Miles says. “Anyway, enough of this chit-chat. I’m here on business.” 

"Business, huh?" April smirks a little. "Let's see. No Kurt and Puck here today, and you're here without Big and Little. Bet I can guess what kind of business."

"Yeah, well. Point me in the right direction and you'll see less of me faster," Miles says. 

April laughs. "That sounds like a deal!" She scans the room for a minute or two before turning back to Miles. "That one," she says, with a nod of her head in the direction of three guys sitting in a cluster of chairs. "Blond guy with the skateboard. Isn't here that often, but often enough for me to hear stuff."

"That little snub nose of his for real? He looks like the next door neighbor kid on a sitcom." Miles looks the blond kid up and down; the blond notices Miles looking and smiles, just a hint of very white teeth showing.

"Yeah, because you don't like the little, sweet boy–next–door type at all," April snorts. "Couldn't find you one with freckles on such short notice, sorry."

Miles scowls at April. "You're one of those sadists my Ma warned me about, aren't you? Forget Wal-Mart. Go get you a job at the women's correctional facility."

"I can see why Kurt speaks so highly of you," April says, rolling her eyes. 

"Hey, most people find me charming!" Miles clasps his hand to his chest, the picture of wounded. "I am damn charming."

“Guess I’m smarter than most people,” April says. She points him back in the direction of the blond kid. “Now, _he_ doesn’t look that smart. Go tap that and leave me be.”

Miles and April part with mutual eye–rolling as Miles heads in the direction of the cluster of chairs and the blond skater–kid and his white teeth. Miles rests his hand on the back of the kid’s chair.

“Hey,” the blond kid says. “You new?’

Miles shrugs. “Newish. I’m Miles Brown and I’m going home with you.”

When the blond kid laughs, all his teeth show, and they are, in fact, very white and perfectly straight. “Oh yeah?”

“Yeah,” Miles says, grinning back. “Why not? You got some place better to be?”

After that, it’s just a confidence game, and Miles has enough confidence for a room full of snub–nose blond kids with skateboards. He gives the kid that same panty–dropping grin that’s always worked on the Cheerios. Seems to work just fine on boys, too, because blond kid gives Miles a long, slow look from feet to head. 

“You know, I _really_ don’t,” the blond kid says. “I’m Austin.” He offers Miles his hand and Miles shakes it once, slow and firm. When he’s done, he doesn’t let go. 

“Of course you are.” Miles slides his hand out of Austin's, letting their fingertips make contact on the way. "You driving or me?"

Austin laughs. It's a nice laugh. "Unless you feel like riding shotgun on my board, you're driving. I don't live too far from here and I usually skate in."

Miles eyes the skateboard dubiously. "I think I'll pass on the skateboard. Had my share of skating over the last twenty-four hours."

"Cool. You bring your board?" Austin asks, as he half–waves, half–shrugs an apologetic goodbye to his friend.

"Oh, no no no," Miles says. "No board. Skates, and they weren't even mine." When Austin looks at him blankly, Miles adds, "It was a birthday party."

"Oh, yeah, that's cool. For a little kid or something?"

"Or something, anyway," Miles laughs. "Cherry's a lot like a little kid in a lot of ways."

Austin smiles again, just the hint of teeth showing. "So, friend then. Weird name. Taken?"

"I can't even begin to explain why I can't explain the answer to that question," Miles says. "Cherry and Shep are the reason Facebook has 'it's complicated' as an option. You ask me, not that anybody ever does, the two of them should just go on and fuck before they drive the rest of us crazy. They won't, but they oughta."

"You've got interesting friends, Miles Brown," Austin says. Miles directs Austin to his Versa. They both climb in and Miles makes sure Austin puts on his seat belt. Car safety habits tell you a lot about person, Miles' Ma says, and Austin's quick click of the buckle and tug on the strap to adjust it suggest to Miles that this is probably a guy with his own box of condoms at home already, and likely won't bitch about using them. Powers of deduction, like in that Sherlock Holmes movie, even if Miles doesn't quite think Robert Downey Jr.'s as hot as every body else seems to. 

"So, you're not far from here?" Miles asks. It's not a terrible part of town or anything, but it's not the kinda nice part of town a kid like Austin looks like he belongs in. 

"Yeah, it's kind of a long ride on my board, but not too far. I don't go to the school around here, though. I'm at Chaminade Julienne, the Catholic school," Austin explains. Well, that clears a few things up.

"I'm from Lima," Miles says. "McKinley."

"Oh, cool," Austin says. "McKinley must have a big gay population. Couple other guys from your school have been out here a few times. One's kinda femme, other guy had a mohawk, at least the first time. You know them?"

Miles fights the urge to roll his eyes. He ends up quirking a grin in Austin's direction instead. "I'll tell you what. That 'femme' one's got great big Chuck Norris–size balls of solid brass." He pauses while Austin laughs. "Oh, and the other one's not out, and Big Brass Balls is likely to kick you in yours if you say something about his boyfriend to the wrong person."

"I'll keep that in mind," Austin says, not sounding particularly put off. Oh well, Miles did his best to warn the kid about Kurt, but maybe that's just one of those things you have to see in action to believe. "So, are _you_?"

"Am I what?"

"Out," Austin says. "I saw the news thing about your school board. I see why somebody would stick with the closet there."

"Well," Miles says, taking a moment to think it over. "I'm out at PFLAG, and with my friends, and I think my Ma's got a pretty good idea that I'm not exactly straight. Don't guess anybody else would have thought about it too much, though. I've hooked up with a few of the Cheerios. People talk, and I'm worth talking about."

Austin makes a noise that could be agreement or confusion. Hard to tell with new people sometimes. "So, you're bi?"

Miles shrugs. "I just love all the people. All the good looking ones, anyway."

Austin nods, looking amused, and then points to Miles’ left. “Turn there, then the third right.” After the right, Austin indicates a fairly large brick–sided house. “That’s me. You can just park on the street. Nobody’s home, but I don’t know when they’ll get back.”

“That gonna be a problem, you think?” Miles asks, because he’s managed to avoid getting caught with somebody’s daughter and isn’t quite sure he’s ready to get caught with somebody’s son. 

“Nah,” Austin says, as Miles pulls up to the curb. “I’m over the garage. I’ve got my own entrance and everything. Mostly they leave me alone as long as I keep my grades up and my music down.”

“Well, isn’t that just absolutely stellar and convenient?” Miles says. They unbuckle and get out of the car, and Miles follows Austin around to the back of the house, where sure enough, a flight of outdoor steps leads up to a door above the garage. Austin’s room looks pretty much exactly how Miles would have figured, laundry thrown everywhere, bed unmade, and an assortment of skateboards and what looks like a snowboard or two in the corner, leaning against the wall. 

“You want a pop?” Austin asks, slipping his shoes off by the door walking over to a mini-fridge tucked under his desk. “I’ve got Jones cream soda and Jones green apple”

“Nothing normal?” Miles asks. 

“No high fructose corn syrup or artificial sweeteners,” Austin says. “Cream soda or apple?”

“Cream soda sounds fine,” Miles says. He kicks off his shoes and sits cross-legged in the center of Austin’s bed, because weird cream soda or no weird cream soda, Miles is pretty sure they both know why they’re here. “So, are you? Out?”

Austin pops the tops off of two cream sodas, handing one to Miles as he sits next to him on the bed. It’s closer than two guys just hanging out would sit. Yeah, they both know why they’re here.

“My family knows and all my friends. Deal with my parents is that I don’t say anything at school, church, or in front of my brother’s or sister’s friends,” Austin says. His knuckles graze Miles’ knee through the hole in his jeans. Miles manages not to shiver, which, hell, he’s never had to _try_ to manage before. He takes a deep breath and drinks more of his cream soda.

“So, about like me, then,” Miles says.

“Not ‘all the people’, though,” Austin says. “Just the ones with dicks.” 

Miles huffs a little laugh. “Lucky for me I got one of those, then.”

The tip of Austin’s tongue darts out, touching his lower lip before disappearing again. “Yeah. Lucky for both of us.” He sets his empty bottle on the floor, then reaches for Miles’, setting it down, too. Austin’s knee presses against Miles’ thigh, and if Austin were a Cheerio, this is the moment Miles would move in for a kiss. Miles leans slightly towards Austin, trying to gauge if the rules are the same with guys.

At Miles’ small movement, Austin leans in, too, closing the distance between Miles’ mouth and his. Miles only spends a second or two considering the differences between Austin’s mouth and a girl’s—lips a little rougher, scratch of fine blond stubble feels _good_ —before Austin’s cream soda–tasting tongue is in Miles’ mouth and the mental comparisons evaporate. 

Austin's hands are already moving over Miles' chest and back, one hand sliding up the front of Miles' shirt, while the other brushes against his neck, fingers tracing the vertebrae. Miles turns his body toward Austin's, moving one leg to the side so he can pull Austin closer. He runs one palm across Austin's chest, feeling the decidedly not–girl angles of Austin's body. New, but not weird, and definitely _good_ , definitely confirming that Miles does in fact appreciate all the people, or at least the hot, wiggly ones with sweet–tasting mouths and busy hands. 

Austin starts tugging Miles' shirt over his head, so Miles puts up his arms and bids his shirt farewell as it sails onto the mix of laundry on the floor. Miles decides this must be some kind of cue, so he grabs the bottom of Austin's T-shirt and lifts up. Austin wriggles out of it, smiling all the while, and doesn't even look at where his shirt lands when Miles sends it flying in the general direction of the floor. 

Miles has played football since third grade and he's seen a lot of shirtless guys, maybe even covertly—or overtly—checked out a few of them, but Austin's the first one Miles has actually disrobed himself. He sits back a little and admires Austin, with his blond skater–boy hair, the dusting of golden hair trailing down into his jeans, and his, yeah that _is_ actually one of those shell–chip chokers like the surfers in the movies wear, of course it is. Miles laughs a little and Austin cocks his head like he's confused.

"This okay, Miles Brown?" Austin asks. "Too pushy?"

Miles laughs again when Austin uses his whole name, but why not? Better to get his whole name out there, even if he's got no idea what Austin's last name is. Miles doesn't even really care what his last name is; that's not why he's here. "Not too pushy. Just getting my bearings, is all."

"You've done this before, right?" Austin asks, and Miles shrugs. 

"With girls, but I'm thinking the mechanics aren't gonna precisely be the same from the other end," Miles confesses. "You seem to know what you're doing, though, and I'm a smart guy. I'll catch on fast."

"Man with a mission today, huh?" Austin asks. “Cool. That’s cool.”

"Could say that, though I like to think of it as a _plan_ , not a mission. Mission sounds so military, and that just ain't me," Miles says. "Saw you, wanted you, and that's about how far I got with the plan."

"Well, so far, so good," Austin says. "If you want to stop or anything, that'll be cool, too. No pressure."

"Yeah, not feeling pressured. You?"

Austin’s nose wrinkles a little when he laughs, and maybe that's what makes his laugh sound so good. Could also be his hands working on Miles' belt buckle, then the button on Miles' jeans, then the zipper, all real smooth like he's done it a lot of times before. When Austin pushes his hand into the open front of Miles' jeans and cups him, a little rough in an entirely awesome sort of way, Miles hears himself letting out a sharp hiss of air from between his teeth. 

"Still cool?" Austin asks, and Miles snorts a little, ’cause it's so obviously cool and both of them know it. Miles nods, closing his eyes halfway while Austin's hand moves over Miles' dick through his briefs. When Austin's movements pick up speed and Miles has to bite back a moan, he figures it's time to make this more of a two way street. Thankfully, Austin doesn't have a belt, just a pair of worn jeans riding low on his hips. The button gives way easily and the zipper practically undoes itself. Austin's got nothing underneath his jeans but what God gave him, and before Miles can stop himself, he mutters, "Well, hot damn!" and wraps his hand around Austin's dick. Miles always has been an all or nothing sort of guy.

Austin pushes forward into the loose circle of Miles' hand, gently squeezing Miles' dick in time to his movements. Miles runs his thumb over the head of Austin's dick, feeling a tiny bit of slickness, and Austin makes a low noise. Well, that's confidence–boost enough for Miles, who closes his hand around Austin a little more firmly, touching him like Miles would touch himself, little spread of the fingers at the base, tightening over the head. 

“Yeah, just like that,” Austin says, his eyes closing. “You’ve got great hands, Miles Brown.”

"Thanks," Miles says, ’cause he does. "You, too." Miles looks down at Austin's hand, stroking Miles through his underwear. Fingers large for the size of his hands, hair on his arms silky and light, a pattern of fine white scars like spiderwebs up the underside of his wrist and arm, and maybe under normal circumstances, Miles might even ask some questions about that, about what happened, but nothing's distracting him from his plan now. Austin pushes Miles' briefs down a little, reaching inside to free Miles' dick, and damn, yeah, none of those Cheerios had anything at all on skater–kid here and his amazing fingers.

"Still having fun?" Austin asks. "I'm having lots of fun."

"I'm having fun," Miles says. "Can we, maybe?" He lets the unfinished question hang there to see what Austin does with it. Austin picks it up like a pro, is what he does.

"Pants off? Oh hell, yeah," Austin says, already hooking both his thumbs in Miles' waistband, pulling off Miles jeans and briefs at once, Miles shifting on the bed to allow their easy removal. Once Miles is naked, he runs his hands along Austin's hips, fingers sliding along Austin's ass as Miles works the jeans off his hips. Perky ass, and legs even better, Miles discovers, as he pulls Austin's jeans the rest of the way off. Muscular thighs and calves, same golden–blond hair, skin tan like he either hit a tanning bed once or twice during the winter or the color just never fades. All the skating, probably soccer, too, judging by some of the other shit strewn across Austin's room. 

"Well, aren't you fine?" Miles says, not being shy about getting a good look. That's part of the point, isn't it? Getting a look, trying out if this is who Miles is now? Parts of Miles, at the very least, have some strong opinions on the matter.

"Yeah, well, look at _you_ ," Austin counters. "Football?"

Miles laughs. "Yeah. And you're soccer, right?"

"And lacrosse." Austin glances in the direction of his nightstand. "So, I'm gonna grab some stuff. Is that cool?"

Miles figures the straight-up answer's the best one here. "Austin, you and me both know I came here to get fucked, so yeah. It's cool."

"You always this forthright?" Austin asks, rifling through his nightstand drawer and coming back with a condom and a bottle of lube.

"Never been fucked before, so I guess I don't have a pattern yet," Miles muses. “I think straightforward seems like the way to go. It bother you? I can talk sweeter if you want."

That makes Austin laugh. "Miles Brown, you just stick with being how you are and I think it'll work out pretty great for you." Austin kisses Miles again, that same sweet taste and faint prickle of stubble. Austin pushes his body against Miles', leaning him back against the bed. He runs his hands down Miles' arms and chests, drawing a tight circle around Miles' nipples with the tips of his index fingers before skating them down Miles' ribs.

"Roll over on your stomach, pull your leg up a little," Austin says. "You're gonna like this." Miles isn't usually one for following instructions, off the field anyway, but he does what Austin says. He hears the click of a bottle top, feels Austin's palm stroking down Miles' back and the curve of his ass, down his inner thigh, before traveling back upward, light touch of a finger tip against Miles' opening. 

"Relax. It's cool," Austin says. "I'll take good care of you, promise." His voice is light and little husky, the pressure of his fingertip increasing until his finger slides just barely inside of Miles. Now, it's not like Miles hasn't experimented at all—what's the point of figuring out you're not entirely straight if you can't try some stuff out on yourself in the process—but he has to exhale in a rush to relax around Austin's finger. It's a little strange, but the tiny movements feel good, too. Miles realizes he's started to push back against Austin's finger; Austin obliges by pushing it further inside, slowly. Another backward movement from Miles, another response from Austin, until his finger is completely inside Miles. Still feels strange, even a little uncomfortable, but still good, too. Austin slips his finger out a little, then back in, and most of the uncomfortable gives way to good, especially when that finger just barely brushes against something inside of Miles. 

Miles makes a noise, a sort of high-pitched sound like nothing he's ever made before, and Austin says, "Yeah, that's the really cool part." He pulls his finger out and slides it back in with a second one. "Check this out." 

Austin's fingertips rub across that spot again, more insistently this time, and Miles can't quite stop the moan from coming from his mouth, the sensation is so intense. Austin’s fingers aren’t small and Miles feels himself stretching around them, but it feels too good to register in his brain as pain. When Austin makes a fluttering movement with his fingers, Miles cries out “Oh, god _damn_ ” and twists the rumpled bedding in his hands. 

Austin withdraws his fingers and Miles hears the crinkling of a wrapper, then the click of the bottle lid again. The head of his dick nudges against Miles’ opening. 

“Are we cool?” Austin asks. 

“Yeah, we’re cool. Go on and fuck me already,” Miles says, managing to resist the urge to roll his eyes. “I got dinner plans later.”

Austin laughs, pushing forward, slick and slow, and Miles realizes that nothing, not fingers or anything else, could really prepare him for this. _This_ , Austin’s dick stretching Miles and filling him, isn’t like anything else ever. It burns and Miles breathes heavily, almost panting, forcing himself to relax as Austin moves deeper inside him, all the way in. It hurts, no lie, but underneath that, everything’s hot and throbbing, and Miles feels so full. 

Miles closes his eyes, just letting himself feel it all. Austin holds himself still inside of Miles, running his hands across Miles’ back and sides, stroking down the curve of Miles’ ass and down one thigh. Miles relaxes under the touch, the tension leaving his muscles, and he feels Austin’s dick pulsing inside him. 

When Austin starts thrusting slowly into Miles, his fingers wrapped around Miles’ hip bones, the burning doesn’t let up, but Miles finds himself rocking back against Austin anyway. He hisses through his teeth when Austin rises up higher on his knees, changing the angle and increasing his speed. Austin moves again, shifts slightly, and just like that, he’s pushing right against that sweet spot inside of Miles, and never mind the burn, everything is _fantastic_. 

“ _Goddamn_ ,” Miles breaths. “Oh, goddamn, that’s good.” He lifts his hips a little, so Austin’s hitting that sensitive spot perfectly, sending Miles’ vision into sparkles around the edge. One of Austin’s hands moves to wrap around Miles’ dick, stroking him in time to Austin’s thrusts, and this, this right here, is exactly what Miles was looking for. 

Austin also finds what he’s looking for, his hips jerking forward in an irregular rhythm, alternating shallow thrusts with deep ones, his movements punctuated with soft grunts and with Miles’ own breathy moans. Miles thinks he hears Austin say his name, his _whole_ name, and isn’t that just the funniest damn thing, using Miles’ whole name like that? Miles is so close to the brink, Austin’s hand moving even faster on his dick, and then Miles is there, coming in hot spurts all over Austin’s fingers. Austin’s there, too, slamming into Miles with a final loud cry.

They both collapse against Austin’s mattress in a sticky heap, Austin pressing kisses into Miles’ spine. Austin pulls out of Miles carefully, and there’s the sound of a condom being pulled off and thunked into a trashcan, before Austin lies back down on the bed next to Miles. Miles rolls over and props himself up on one arm, knowing he’s smirking and not even caring.

“So, what’d you think about that, Miles Brown?” Austin asks. 

“I think I wish I’d figured this all out a year or two ago,” Miles says. “’Cause that? Is awesome.” He laughs a little. “I’m also _starving_.”

“Chipotle? I could slap somebody for a burrito bowl right about now,” Austin says. 

“Soft tacos. Like three of them,” Miles says. “See, this? This is destiny right here. Sex and Mexican food. Life is fantastic.”


	3. 3x26

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A car and a birthday, the Brown epoch begins, fucking mac n' cheese, "I tried" (but I failed), baseball players behaving badly, and college news.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Playlist for [3x26 "Drive"](http://www.youtube.com/playlist?list=PL24346F035F2A67F6)

“So which of you boys gets to drive her over to Rinky Dinks?” Burt asks as he’s closing the hood on the Trans-Am. 

“You really have to ask?” Puck jokes. 

“Uh, Kurt,” Finn says. “Who else would get to do it?”

Kurt just shrugs. “They speak the truth. So it looks good to go?”

“Looks great. You did a good job, kid,” Burt says. “I’m proud. You get some pictures?”

“I did,” Kurt nods. “I’m going to go ahead and drive it over before dinner, though.”

“You gonna need a lift back?” Burt asks. 

“I got it,” Puck answers. “Don’t worry, we’ll be back for dinner. Heard it was Finn’s turn and all.”

“First test run of my fu— new mac ’n’ cheese recipe,” Finn announces. “It’s gonna be epic.”

“And if it’s not, there’s always the nachos at Rinky Dinks,” Kurt laughs. 

“Yeah, I hear those things are ridiculous,” Finn says, rolling his eyes. 

“Ridiculous nachos? I swear, I never know what you kids are talking about,” Burt says. 

“Generation gap?” Kurt shrugs. “We’ll see you at home.”

It doesn’t take long to drive across town to Rinky Dinks, where they leave the Trans-Am and check in with the front desk guy before heading back to Kurt’s. The first thing Puck notices when they walk in is that it smells like burnt cheese. The second thing he notices is the swearing coming from the kitchen. 

“Fickity fuck!” Finn yelps, and his exclamation is followed by a loud bang, and then some additional swearing, muffled by the sound of running water.

“I think it’s not going too well,” Puck mutters, and Kurt bites his lip as he nods. “Should we tiptoe past?”

“Or perhaps render first aid,” Kurt shrugs. “Hard to say.” He raises his voice. “Finn?”

“Yeah?” Finn answers in a quavery voice. 

“Are you okay?”

“Uhhh… maybe?”

Kurt sighs a little and walks into the kitchen, and Puck follows. Finn is standing by the sink running cold water over his left hand. “Dude, did you burn yourself?” Puck asks. 

“A little bit,” Finn says, still sounding shaky. “I’m just putting some water on it until it stops hurting.”

“Show us,” Kurt says. 

“No, I’m just gonna keep it in here for a while,” Finn says. “It kinda hurts a lot when I take it out.”

Puck walks over and looks at Finn’s hand, then whistles. “Ouch. Um. That’s impressive, but not in a good way.”

“I’m an overachiever or something,” Finn says. “Should I put, like, ice or something on it?”

“Finn,” Kurt sighs, joining the two of them at the sink. “That’s… particularly nasty. All right. I’ll go get the gauze. Keep it under the water until I get back, okay?”

“Ok,” Finn says. “I might skip dinner next Friday, though, ok?”

“You can take that up with Dad,” Kurt responds, walking into the hall. 

“How _did_ you do that?” Puck asks while they wait for Kurt to return. 

“It was burning on the top,” Finn says. “I forgot about the hot pad.”

“Damn.” Puck shakes his head. “Well. You probably won’t again?”

“That’s what mom said last time, but I guess maybe she was wrong.”

“Oh. Fuck. Well, sorry.” 

Kurt walks back into the room with gauze, tape, some kind of ointment, and the ibuprofen bottle. “All right. Don’t put the ointment on until at least tomorrow, but maybe it’ll help prevent infection. Take some ibuprofen and then we’ll wrap up your hand.”

Puck grabs a bottle of water from the refrigerator, opens it, and sets it in front of the ibuprofen on the table while Kurt helps Finn dry his hand off. 

“Don’t poke it! Don’t poke it!” Finn whimpers. 

“It has to be dry before you put the gauze on,” Kurt says patiently. “Take the ibuprofen first, so it can start to work.”

Finn obediently takes his ibuprofen and drinks half the bottle of water, before saying, “I’m sorry I burned the fucking mac ’n’ cheese.”

“I’m sure it’s a good first try?” Puck offers, shrugging a little behind Finn’s back. “You know, plenty of chances or whatever.”

“Yeah, maybe we can scrape off the burned part,” Finn says. “I guess I’ll just keep working on it. I’ll get it figured out eventually.”

“Exactly,” Kurt agrees, wrapping the gauze around Finn’s hand. “Just make sure you don’t land on it tonight.”

“At least it’s just my left hand,” Finn says, looking thoughtful. He proceeds to hold his hand, palm up, at about shoulder level.

“True.” Kurt shrugs. “All right. All wrapped up and no place to go. Dinner’s ready?”

“Other than the scraping part, yeah,” Finn says. “Maybe, uh, one of you guys could scrape off the burned layer?”

“And you can go collect your parents from upstairs,” Puck counters. “Have fun with that.”

“I’ll just, like, focus on my pain or something,” Finn says. “Just in case.”

“At least he can’t get her pregnant. Again,” Kurt deadpans, standing up with the first aid supplies. 

“ _Dude_. That’s my _mom_!”

“And my dad. I think we’ve covered this discussion before.”

Finn makes his grumpy face before he leaves the kitchen. They can hear him at the top of the stairs, shouting down the hallway, “Mom! Burt! Dinner!” before quickly thumping back down the stairs. “Ok, done.”

Puck manages to scrape off most of the burnt layer, which leaves the mac ’n’ cheese looking weirdly naked, and Kurt returns without the gauze and shit. It’s another couple of minutes before Burt and Carole appear, smiling a little too brightly. 

“Finn!” Carole exclaims, taking in his wrapped hand and the strange–looking contents of the casserole dish. “What happened?”

“I made mac ’n’ cheese.”

“I… can see that. What happened to your hand?”

“Mac ’n’ cheese.”

“Okay.” Carole looks puzzled but sits down. “Well, I’m sure it will be delicious.”

“I’m sure it will be hot,” Finn says, definitively. 

“Yes, you tested that,” Kurt says, sitting down. “Thoroughly.”

“Well, you know me,” Finn says. “Taking one for the team.”

“Admirable,” Puck nods. 

“Only you could sustain a serious injury making macaroni, Finn,” Burt says, shaking his head. 

“Dad,” Kurt shakes his head. 

“What?” Burt asks. “Look at him!”

“Harsh, Burt,” Puck adds. “At least he made an effort, right?”

“It’s ok,” Finn says. “It hasn’t been pick–on–Finn day for a while, I guess.”

“Yes, but that’s _our_ holiday,” Kurt counters. “Let’s eat.”

 

When the three of them arrive at Rinky Dinks, Brown is already there, with Rick and Alicia draped in crepe paper for some reason. “I don’t know about that blue.”

“ _What_ are you doing?” Kurt asks disdainfully. 

“What’s it look like? I’m picking out decoration colors,” Brown says. “I didn’t know what would look good in this light, so I bought a bunch of different ones. Figure we can always use the leftovers for something else. There’s always another party.”

“God save me from the queers,” Kurt mutters, rolling his eyes upwards. 

“Miles!” Alicia sounds absolutely scandalized. “Does Ma know about this?”

“You hush up and mind your own business, or I’m gonna finish mummifying your boyfriend and I’m gonna stick him in the back of my car,” Brown says. 

“That little thing doesn’t have enough room,” Alicia huffs. “And I’m telling Ma that you have a crepe paper problem. Maybe you need to get some help for that.”

“Oh, I _like_ her,” Kurt mutters under his breath.

“Yeah, I like her, too,” Rick says, grinning from underneath his layer of crepe paper. “She’s the good Brown.”

“You’re so sweet, Daniel.”

“Not as sweet as you,” Rick says.

Finn groans. “God save us from the straights, too,” he says.

“Hey. Move your shit, Brown, I got a birthday cake here,” Santana says from behind them. “Other Brown, Rick, Puck, Kurt.” She stops. “Hudson, why are you holding your hand like that?”

“Fucking mac ’n’ cheese,” Finn says.

“Right.” Santana gestures at the table and Brittany sets down a huge bakery box. “So it’s got red frosting. Even though that doesn’t change how it tastes.”

“That’s not true, ’Tana,” Brittany says. “Now it tastes red. Casey likes red.”

Santana just sighs slightly. “Okay, Britt.” She turns to look at the rest of them. “I saw Manhands and the Asians in the parking lot, along with some of those other PFLAG people.”

“Does that mean we can get our skates on now?” Alicia asks. 

“I’m gonna need help getting out of this paper,” Rick says. 

“Foots, you watch it. You just watch it,” Brown warns him. 

“Can you put skates on and take the crepe paper off of him at the same time?” Santana asks. “Because that would be some serious skill.”

“I can skate circles around him while I unwind it, and when I’m done, it’ll all be pretty and draped on the wall.” Alicia grins.

Santana looks at Alicia appraisingly. “You ever wanted to be a Cheerio?”

“Uh.” Alicia tilts her head. “That come with a benefits package?”

“Oh, you’re perfect,” Santana cackles. “You come with me next week, we’re gonna talk to Sylvester.”

“All right,” Alicia shrugs. “We’ll do that.”

Puck has the uncomfortable sensation that he just witnessed some kind of transfer of power, and he’s briefly even more glad that they’re going to be well clear of McKinley. 

“Ah, the Brown epoch,” Kurt murmurs. “Someone should take a picture of this moment.”

Finn laughs. “If one of you guys’ll reach into my pocket and get my phone, I’ll take some pictures.” He gestures to his back left pocket. 

“I can get that for you,” Miles says, grinning and taking a step forward.

“Oh, sure, thanks!” Finn says, turning his back towards Miles. “I mac ’n’ cheesed my hand after I put my phone in my pocket and now I can’t reach.”

“Stop.” Kurt swats Brown away. “You can’t hit on _everyone_ , haven’t you learned that by now?”

“What?” Miles says. “He’s not seeing anybody, is he?”

“He’s got a lovely evening planned for prom,” Puck answers, pulling out Finn’s phone for him while he talks. “Nice girl.”

“Exactly.” Kurt fixes Miles with a glare. 

Before Miles can respond, Mike, Tina, and Rachel walk up. “Oh, what great colors!” Tina says. “But why are we decorating people?”

“Don’t ask,” Puck tells her. “Really. It’s better that way.” He grins at her and Mike. “Nice shirts.”

“So what’s at the Boston Conservatory?” Brown asks Mike. 

“Me,” Mike grins. “Or, at least, I will be, in the fall.”

“Well,” Brown says. “Good on ya!”

“Thanks!”

“This is so exciting!” Rachel gushes. “Santana, have you heard yet?”

“From a couple of schools,” Santana nods. “Not all of them, yet, though, so we’ll see.”

“Still a Badger,” Finn says, still holding his bandaged hand up at shoulder level like he’s holding a platter or something. 

“Not talking about it,” Puck says firmly. 

“We really should get these decorations up and not on Rickenbacker,” Kurt agrees, looking at the time on his phone. “Finn?”

“As long as you can hand stuff up to me, ’cause, you know,” Finn says, brandishing his hand. “Fucking mac ’n’ cheese.”

“Ah, family dinner night.” Kurt shakes his head. “And yes.”

“I’m oh for two,” Finn says, sadly. 

“What happened the other time?” Brittany asks.

Finn and Kurt exchange a glance. “Uh. I’m an asshole,” Finn says.

“Oh, well I’m sorry to hear that,” Brittany says, patting Finn’s arm sympathetically. “Maybe next week’ll be better.”

The next fifteen minutes pass in organizing people and decorations, and somehow Puck finds himself in charge of handing out roller skates. “Try the nachos,” he says to Taylor. “Really.”

“Uh, sure?” Taylor shrugs. “Thanks.”

“Shep and Cherry have entered the parking lot,” Brown announces. 

“Is that code for something?” Sam asks from where he’s serving as Finn’s second hand. 

“Yeah, it’s code for Shep and Cherry are here,” Brown says, shaking his head. “You really are from Tennessee, aren’t you?”

Sam looks affronted briefly, but then appears to remember who he’s talking to, and just shrugs. “I’m guessing he means Karofsky and Casey?” he says to Finn, who nods.

“Brown just renames people whenever he feels like it,” Rick explains. “It’s just a thing. We all try to ignore him, but he keeps on doin’ it anyway.”

“Can I help it if I have a gift for these things?” Brown says.

“Does that mean we all need to stop taping?” Tina asks. “We have at least three rolls of crepe paper hanging in here, plus the banner.”

“Well, that’s probably enough crepe paper. We’ll save the rest. Maybe we can paper something up for PFLAG sometime,” Brown says. 

“Right,” Tina nods, and they all toss their decorating supplies into a bag behind the table with the cake, just as Karofsky and Casey walk through the door. 

“But where do the skates _come_ from?” Casey’s asking.

“You rent the skates, Case,” Karofsky responds.

Casey shakes his head in wonder, like renting skates is just the most amazing concept, then he looks up at the banner. “Oh! Somebody’s having a party!”

“Uh, yeah,” Karofsky nods, suppressing a smile. 

“Oh! Hey, that’s _my_ name!”

“Cherry, today _is_ your birthday, right?” Brown says. “Don’t tell me Shep gave us the wrong date.”

“Oh!” Casey says again. “Wow! Oh my— _wow_!” 

“Happy birthday, Case,” Karofsky says. Casey turns bright pink and flaps his hands excitedly, and then he clutches at Karofsky’s shirt like he’s completely overwhelmed. “Hey, don’t get too excited yet. Presents.”

Casey buries his face in Karofsky’s shirt and makes a series of squeaks that Karofsky seems to recognize as words, but just sound like squeaks to Puck. 

“I’m sorry, Dave,” Brittany says. “We keep breaking your Casey.”

“It’s a good breaking this time,” Santana says. “C’mon, you two. Outside.”

“Outside?” Casey squeaks into Karofsky’s shirt. 

“Before it gets dark,” Kurt explains, stepping forward slightly. “Shall we?”

Karofsky steers Casey out the door, and the rest of them trail behind as they head into the parking lot and around the corner to where they left the Trans-Am earlier. 

“I don’t understand,” Casey says. 

“We heard you needed something for a test tomorrow,” Kurt says, sounding amused. He holds out the keys in front of Casey’s chest. Casey tentatively reaches for the keys without entirely disentangling himself from Karofsky. 

“I… still don’t understand,” Casey says, looking bewildered. 

“Happy birthday!” Finn says, still holding his bandaged hand aloft, which seems to make Casey even more confused. 

“The car’s yours,” Karofsky explains. “Uh, hopefully we got the color right.”

“ _Mine_?” Casey looks like he’s going to explode or fall over or launch into the atmosphere. “It’s the same color as in the _movie_!” He alternates between staring at the car in disbelief and hiding his face in a very amused Karofsky’s shirt. “I can’t, I don’t, just… _how_?”

“Kurt found it on the Internet,” Brittany explains. “And he fixed all its insides and outsides—”

“I hammer–of–Thor’d the hood!” Finn declares.

“And then my dad said I could paint it, and Dave said yellow,” Brittany continues, ignoring Finn. “Then everybody bought you gas, but not actual gas, because that wouldn’t all fit in the car. Now you can drive places if you pass your test tomorrow.”

Casey’s vibrating like somebody gave him three or four shots of espresso. “I don’t know what to _say_ ,” he says. “I don’t. I don’t know what to say!” Karofsky’s got a hand on his shoulder, like Casey might just fly away. “I don’t. All of you? You all did this? And Kurt? You did this?”

“There’s an A.A.A. membership and insurance,” Santana says. “And fuzzy dice, too.”

“My Ma took care of the insurance,” Brown says. “You can thank her by coming over and letting her feed you something, right Shep?”

“Right,” Karofsky nods, almost absently. 

“David, do you _see_ it?” Casey says, like he’s still not sure he’s processing everything correctly. “Look at it! Oh, _everybody_!”

“I see it.” Karofsky sounds amused. “You gonna try it out?”

“I’m afraid if I touch it, I’m gonna wake up,” Casey admits. “ _Kurt_. I just can’t. I don’t even know what to _say_!”

“It’s real,” Kurt says. “Believe me. Go on.”

Casey grins up at Karofsky, then darts over to Kurt and grabs him in a fierce, if awkward, hug. Only then does he actually approach the car, kind of sideways, like it might bite him or something. Finally, he puts the key into the lock and unlocks the car, opening the door and sliding into the seat. “It really has fuzzy dice!” he says. 

“Harder to find than you’d think!” Finn calls out. 

“Start her up!” someone calls.

“I’m not a licensed driver!” Casey says. “I’m not allowed to!”

“You can start the car! You just can’t drive it!” someone else—maybe Alicia—says.

“Okay!” Casey puts the key into the ignition and starts the car. “This is so _cool_! Oh my gosh, you guys. This is _so cool!_ ” Casey rests his head on the steering wheel for a moment and doesn’t move. 

“Oops. We really did break him,” Puck mutters. 

“I really don’t want to administer first aid _again_ today,” Kurt sighs. 

“Nah, he just does that,” Karofsky assures Kurt, then frowns. “Wait, again?”

“Mac ’n’ cheese,” Puck answers for Finn, nodding slightly in Finn’s direction. 

“ _Fucking_ mac ’n’ cheese,” Finn corrects.

Karofsky nods slowly. “Right. Okay.”

Casey pops up from the steering wheel like a prairie dog in one of those nature documentaries. His eyes are shiny and his cheeks are pink, and he still looks completely overwhelmed, yet totally thrilled. “This is so _cool_ ,” Casey says. “Everybody, this is so cool. Thank you, thank you, thank you!”

“Happy birthday,” is the response out of most of them standing there, but it’s not quite in unison, some people starting just ahead of the others. 

“You people are absurd,” Brown says, shaking his head. “God, save me from the queers _and_ the straights, I swear.”

They troop back in after a moment, leaving Casey and Karofsky with the Trans-Am, and everyone slowly makes their way onto the rink to skate. Puck kicks himself for not remembering to ask Rinky Dinks to lock up [their karaoke machine](http://www.youtube.com/playlist?list=PLB0C6D0BDBC137C0B) before the party, especially when Rachel starts sniffing around it, trying to hook it up to the sound system and flipping through the available tracks. 

“Artie!” she cries after a moment. “Help me get this set up so we can all sing!”

“Oh, yeah,” Artie says, looking less than thrilled. “Sure, I can probably get that working.”

“It’ll be so much better than the canned music they provide!” Rachel enthuses. “I’ve already found some excellent tracks!”

“Now, _that_ sounds like a good idea,” Brown says. He walks over to Rick and pats him on the back. “Me and Foots here can serenade all of you with our musical stylins.”

Rick rolls his eyes and Alicia looks over at Brown with annoyance, but neither of them say anything.

“Wonderful!” Rachel beams at Brown. “See, Artie? This will be so much fun!”

“I’m sure,” Artie says. He starts pulling out and plugging in various cables until there’s a crackling noise over the speakers. “Got it!”

“I’ll start us off!” Rachel scrolls through the tracks before selecting one of the songs, and as she picks up the microphone, the strains of “Something To Talk About” echo around the rink. 

“No Streisand,” someone shouts in a clearly disguised voice, which obviously means it’s Sam. Everyone except Rachel laughs, and she just frowns and starts to sing. 

“Well, I’m going after Berry,” Brown says. “You guys are probably gonna need it.”

“I think I need to develop a smoking habit,” Santana drones. “Any reason to be outside right now and through the next song.”

“Oh, you do _not_ wanna miss this,” Brown says. 

“And yet, I’m sure _I_ do,” Kurt says, raising one eyebrow. “I think I’ll move around in a counterclockwise direction in hopes that concentrating on that will help me to ignore the sound of your voice.”

“You and your big brass balls,” Brown says. 

“And you with none.” Kurt shrugs negligently and does just like he said, pushing off to skate around the rink. Puck doubles over laughing at the affronted expression on Brown’s face.

“He’s got you there,” Santana smirks. “Come on, Puckerman. Kurt’s got the right idea.” Santana grabs Brittany with one hand and Puck’s wrist with the other, pulling them onto the rink as well. 

When Rachel finishes, Brown does indeed claim the karaoke machine, singing “I Want You To Want Me.” Brown really gets into it, pointing at various people as they skate. 

Rachel tries to go _back_ to the karaoke machine after Brown finishes, but Finn intercepts her. “Other people get turns, too, Rach,” he says. 

“Oh, good! You can go now, Finn!”

“Oh, uh, that wasn’t my plan or anything,” Finn says, backing away from the karaoke machine. 

“No, no, I insist!” Rachel shoves the microphone into Finn’s hand. “They have a wide selection!”

“Yeah, I just bet they do,” Finn says, turning towards the karaoke machine with a resigned sort of shrug. 

Puck stops himself and holds his hands up to his mouth. “Karaoke only takes one hand!” he calls across the rink. 

“So’s jerking off, but nobody wants to see that in public, either!” Finn calls back. 

Some of the girls squeak, and Brown declares, “Hey now, don’t speak for all of us!”

“I _told_ you,” Kurt glares. 

Finn rolls his eyes at all of them, then jabs at the karaoke machine with his bandaged hand. For some reason, Finn’s choice of “Semi–Charmed Life” seems pointed, but Puck can’t quite figure out why. When Finn finishes, though, Rachel does reclaim the microphone.

“Everyone, there are lots of great songs! We want to hear from everyone! Are there any volunteers?”

Rick gives Alicia a big, stupid grin, then swaggers up to the karaoke machine. Brown looks horrified. 

“Oh, no, man,” Brown says. “Oh, no, no, no. This ain’t gonna happen!”

“I’ve changed my mind,” Kurt says. “Rickenbacker is a fine, upstanding citizen and an exemplary human being.”

“I agree,” Alicia says loftily. 

“You better keep it clean, Foots,” Brown says, pointing at Rick. “You best watch yourself.”

Rick’s a little off key as he croons some horribly sappy country song that Puck’s never heard of, but Alicia seems to appreciate the gesture. She makes a big show of applauding and then plants a big kiss on Rick’s cheek when he finishes. Brown glares at Rick, and Alicia glares right back at Brown.

“What an inspiring performance!” Rachel seems to need to comment on all the songs, like she’s going to replace Schue or something. She doesn’t give up the microphone, though, instead selecting another song for herself. 

“There should be a law against Rachel Berry doing Cher,” Kurt winces as Rachel begins to sing “If I Could Turn Back Time.” She turns a mournful look on Finn after the first few lines, and Finn gives Puck a panicked look before skating off toward the nacho bar. 

“Now who wants to sing!?” Rachel scans the room. “Santana!”

Santana wheels around to look at Rachel incredulously. “What?”

“You should sing!”

“Right.” Santana sighs. “Well, better me than another one from you.” Santana skates over to the karaoke machine and takes the microphone, pushing Rachel towards the actual rink. “Go skate, Berry. This lesbian’s gonna show you how it’s done.” She’s wearing a smirk that’s explained when “Come To My Window” starts blaring out of the speakers. 

After Santana, Tina does “Mr. Brightside”, Alicia does “Killing Me Softly”, and Brown reclaims the microphone for “You Give Love A Bad Name”.

“You should sing, blue eyes,” Puck teases. “Show ’em how it’s really done.”

“Tempting,” Kurt agrees as they work on a basket of nachos. “Assuming they have something I want to sing.”

“Yeah, five hundred songs, probably nothing,” Puck agrees solemnly. 

“And you have to sing after I do.”

“Hardships.”

“I know.” Kurt shrugs and grins. 

Kurt does “These Boots Are Made for Walking,” much to Brittany’s amusement, and then Puck does “Fight For Your Right To Party”, because, well, why not?

When he finishes, he sees Brown steering Casey and Karofsky towards the karaoke corner, and he beats a hasty retreat. Neither Karofsky or Casey look that enthused, and Casey looks like he’s still not quite figured out how to work the roller skates, exactly. 

There’s a long pause without any music before Brown seems to win and Casey’s standing up there with a microphone in his hand, looking at it confusedly. Even after the intro music to “Blister in the Sun” starts, Casey keeps shaking his head at Brown, until Brown pokes him a few times in the side, then gestures to the screen impatiently. Casey doesn’t quite seem to get how close to hold the microphone, so Puck can only hear about every other word, which might be a mercy, since what he can hear is both flat and off by half a beat. Brown finally helps him out at the end of the song, and Casey, at least, seems to enjoy himself. 

Taylor follows with an impressive rendition of “Better Man”, before Rachel commandeers the microphone yet again. Finn mouths “text me when she’s done” at Puck before disappearing into the bathroom, still on roller skates. Puck decides that was probably a good plan on Finn’s part when Rachel starts singing “You Were Meant For Me”. 

Puck loses track of who’s singing what after that, though at one point, Brown decides to try to make them all do the Hokey Pokey followed by the Cha Cha Slide. Casey reminds Puck of Hannah, at Hannah’s seventh birthday party, the one that was deemed lame a year later. At the time, though, it was the best thing in her life, ever, and that’s what Casey looks like – like he is legitimately having the time of his life. Karofsky, for his part, looks resigned and pained when Casey insists that he participate in the Cha Cha Slide. Casey just beams at Karofsky, who looks like he might enjoy oral surgery more than what he’s currently doing. 

It’s when they’re finishing up with the ridiculous dancing that Kurt grabs Puck’s hand and pulls him towards the hallway adjacent to the bathrooms. They’re all the way to the emergency exit before Kurt stops and pushes Puck against the wall, one hand sliding down Puck’s chest as their mouths meet, lips already parted. 

“Blue eyes?” Puck pants when Kurt pulls back moments later. Kurt’s hand has travelled lower, resting on Puck’s definitely–interested cock. “Um.”

“It’s dark,” Kurt says, pressing his hand against Puck. “Come on. Semi-public sex on rollerskates.”

Puck laughs. “Oh, don’t get me wrong.” He wraps one hand around the back of Kurt’s neck, pulling him into a deep kiss before releasing him and awkwardly turning around. Kurt laughs, clearly delighted, and runs his hands down Puck’s back, gripping his hips. 

“Up on our toes to keep our brakes working,” Kurt whispers in Puck’s ear, one hand sliding around Puck’s waistband to work on his belt. “Fuck, baby, help me out.”

“Yeah, yeah,” Puck nods, unfastening his belt and jeans, pushing them and his underwear down to rest around his thighs. Kurt’s hand runs over his now–exposed ass, one finger dipping close to Puck’s entrance. Puck whimpers slightly, rocking his hips and trying to stay balanced on the skates. 

“God, Puck,” Kurt breathes next to Puck’s ear. There’s a rustling noise and Kurt shifts forward, his cock pressing against Puck’s ass. “Going to thrust up into you, come inside you, right here,” Kurt continues, and Puck exhales.

“Someone could see us,” Puck responds in the same tone of voice, and the slight intake of breath behind him tells him he’s pressing exactly the right buttons. Kurt’s finger, slick with spit, pushes into him as he continues talking. “They could walk down this hallway, realize it was you, come closer to talk to you.” Now a second saliva–covered finger is inside him, Kurt stretching Puck out and brushing against Puck’s prostate, which makes it a little harder for Puck to concentrate on what he’s saying. Semi-naked storytime, he figures. “They could see you taking me, watch your cock disappearing inside my ass, watch us fucking, blue eyes.”

“Fuck, yes,” Kurt groans, though Puck’s not sure Kurt realizes how loudly he says it. Kurt’s fingers leave, there’s some sound behind Puck again, and then Kurt does in fact thrust up into Puck. “Anyone here could watch me fucking you, baby.”

“Yeah, you like that,” Puck responds, shifting slightly to let Kurt push farther inside. “Fuck. You feel good, K.” 

Kurt’s arm wraps around Puck’s waist, his hand resting on Puck’s cock. “You think Finn was right?” Kurt asks. “We fell in love over nachos and ugly rollerskates?” Kurt manages to establish a rhythm that doesn’t result in either of them falling over, and Puck chalks that up to more gay ninja skills, because he’s having a hard enough time standing up without moving at all. 

“Stranger things.” Puck exhales loudly. “ _Fuck_ , blue eyes. Have happened.”

“What?” Kurt asks almost innocently, repeating the same motion, this time tightening his hand along Puck’s cock as well. “Could be,” he continues. “We should steal a skate. Or some jalapenos. Enshrine them. Just in case.”

Puck laughs as best he can. “Right.” He squeezes around Kurt as he thrusts in faster, and Kurt gasps a little, his hand tightening on Puck. They don’t speak for a few moments, Kurt moving faster in and out of Puck, one hand flying over Puck’s cock and the other gripping Puck’s hip, probably more to keep him from falling over than anything, if Puck had to guess. 

Puck thinks he hears a sound at one point from further down the hallway, but chalks it up to paranoia, even if Kurt does seem to speed up just after that. “Fuck, baby,” Kurt groans, humming at the end of the sentence, and Puck pushes into Kurt’s hand with a low whine of his own, coming hard as Kurt starts to fill him. 

Kurt slumps awkwardly against Puck’s back, and Puck can tell that Kurt’s about to fall or at least roll away. They’re sort of messy, and Puck straightens slightly. “We should. Bathroom.”

“Mmm. Yeah.” Kurt pulls away slowly, and Puck turns around, pulling his jeans up enough to let him move. They end up laughing in the thankfully empty bathroom before examining themselves in the cracked mirrors. “Well, it’s not immediately obvious,” Kurt concludes. 

“And even if it were, you wouldn’t particularly care,” Puck adds, pressing his lips to Kurt’s neck. 

When they emerge, there’s apparently been singing and candles and shit, because everyone has a piece of cake. Luckily, it’s chocolate, so Puck accepts the piece that Rachel passes to him. As the cake–eating wraps up, Casey starts making a circuit of the rink, obviously thanking people and offering oddly formal handshakes and the occasional hug. When he makes his way back around to Kurt and Puck, Casey has a hard time stopping himself and rolls into them. 

“Sorry! Sorry! I haven’t figured out brakes!” Casey says.

“Yeah,” Puck grins. “You gotta sort of stand up on your toes.”

“Thanks! I’ll remember that,” Casey says. “Well, I’ll try to. Skating is _hard_!” He gives them both a big smile. “Thank you guys. Really, really. Just, _thank_ you!” Casey grabs Kurt in another awkward hug and then turns and does the same to Puck. 

“You’re welcome,” Kurt says. “Good luck tomorrow.”

“Thank you! Now I just have to learn how to drive my car!” Casey beams at them. 

“Everyone should know how to drive a stick.” Puck smirks. “Or at least that’s what K tells me.”

“You know, David told me the exact same thing!”

“Imagine that.” Puck laughs. “We’re heading out. Have fun!”

“Tell Finn I said bye,” Casey says, before he slowly skates away.

“Shit.” Puck looks at Kurt. “We forgot Finn.”

“Our minds were otherwise occupied. And he _had_ planned to drive himself until, well. Fucking mac ’n’ cheese.”

“Right.” Puck raises his voice. “Finn!”

Finn skates over. “Hey! You guys having fun?”

“Yes. We were going to head out, though,” Kurt answers. 

“Oh, ok, that’s cool. My hand kinda hurts, anyway,” Finn says. “Let me just, uh. I don’t actually know if I can get my skates off, guys.”

“I’ll get his left, you get his right,” Puck sighs. Finn sits down on the ground and sticks out his feet, sitting there placidly while Puck and Kurt remove his skates. 

Once they’re done, Kurt stands, brushing off his knees. “All right. Let’s go rest up for tomorrow’s exertions.”

“And choreography day, too,” Finn says. 

“Yes, that’s what I said.”

Finn shrugs. “Oh, I thought you meant… well, anyway. Rest sounds good.”

 

Finn does go to bed almost as soon as they get back, after taking more ibuprofen. Carole stops Kurt and Puck as they walk down the hall. “Boys?”

“Yes, Carole?”

“Do you think Finn needs to see a doctor about his hand? You two saw the burn, was it bad?”

Puck exchanges a glance with Kurt and they both shrug. “Dunno,” Puck answers for them both. “I mean, it was bad, but it wasn’t needing skin grafts bad or anything, so what could a doctor really do other than confirm that he should keep it clean and dry?”

“Oh, that’s true,” Carole nods. “All right. Well. You boys have a glee club thing tomorrow, right?”

“Ten until four, hopefully, but it could go longer,” Kurt responds. “One of us will let you know if we’re going to miss dinner too.”

“Thank you,” Carole smiles. “Well, I think I’m off to bed. Good night, boys!”

“Good night,” they chorus, stepping into the kitchen to grab some food before continuing to the bedroom. 

“Well, I think he loved the car,” Puck states unnecessarily. 

Kurt laughs. “I think so. And despite Finn’s doubts, Casey loved the venue.”

“Yep.” Puck flops back onto the bed. “Maybe we should take a cue from the rest of the house.”

“Time to sleep?”

“Been a long day.” Puck smirks. “Lots of physical exertion.”

“That’s true.” Kurt crawls onto the bed as well and puts his head on Puck’s chest. “And dancing tomorrow. All afternoon.”

“Can’t say we didn’t put our best effort in.”

“God, no.” Kurt stifles a yawn. “Okay. Going to brush my teeth, so we can climb under the blankets.”

“Won’t need quite so many soon.”

“Spring. Like a distant dream.”

 

Puck wakes up the next morning to the smell of bacon, the taste of Kurt’s hair, and the feel of Kurt’s hand slowly running down his morning erection. “Good morning, baby,” Kurt whispers, and Puck smiles lazily, blowing the strands of Kurt’s hair out of his mouth. 

“Morning.” Puck stretches and then lets his own hand drift to Kurt’s erection, palming it before wrapping his fingers around it. “Thought we needed a little something before choreography extravaganza?”

“Don’t we?”

Puck laughs. “Good point.” They lie in bed for another twenty minutes, kissing and whispering and stroking, then resting until it’s just a little too sticky and cold, and the bacon smell gets really overpowering. “Time to get up,” Puck says reluctantly, and Kurt nods. 

Puck puts on those damn pink pants, because hell, why not? Something has to get sweaty. Kurt has the navy pants that are similar, but tops it off with the sweatshirt he stole from Puck ages ago, and Puck raises his eyebrow. “What?”

“McKinley football?”

“I’ll just tell anyone who asks that I stole it from my boyfriend.” Kurt laughs. “The four that don’t know are completely oblivious and will think I’m joking.”

“True.” Puck wraps both arms around Kurt, kissing him softly before deepening the kiss. 

When they reach the kitchen, there’s bacon, eggs, muffins, and yogurt on the table, and Carole is busily cutting up some kind of fruit. “Good morning!”

Burt’s already sitting at the kitchen table, reading part of the Saturday Toledo Blade, while Finn’s standing at the counter, trying to do something with his bandaged hand. He has the roll of gauze and the tube of ointment, but doesn’t seem to be having much success at whatever it is. “Morning, Carole,” Kurt answers, and Puck nods as they walk over to Finn. 

“Need help?” Puck asks. 

“Nah, I got— actually, yeah,” Finn says, shaking his head at himself. “Please?” He holds his hand out in Puck’s direction. 

Puck grabs the tube of ointment while Kurt stares perplexedly at the bandage. “It’s not a tie, Finn,” he says after a moment, trying to untangle the bandage. 

“It’s hard to do with one hand,” Finn says. “I guess I need two hands for more stuff than I thought.”

“Not dancing,” Puck points out, dabbing the ointment along the burn. 

“Yeah, well, not everything,” Finn agrees. “Ouch! Please no poking!”

“Doesn’t do any good to put it _around_ the burn,” Puck says mildly. 

“Brown would love this bandage, around Rickenbacker,” Kurt says.

“Brown’s kind of funny,” Finn says. “But his sister’s funnier.”

“His sister’s going to be in charge for three years,” Kurt laughs. “And Brown needs to learn some self-control.”

“I think he’s just messing with you,” Finn says. “I don’t think he was really hitting on me or anything. I think he just, you know, does that.”

“What did you say, honey?” Carole suddenly asks. “Did you say Brown was hitting on you?”

“Uh, no?” Finn says, exchanging a quick look with Kurt. “I said he wasn’t, or that I don’t think he really was, anyway.”

“I don’t like him.” Kurt shrugs and wraps the bandage around Finn’s now well–covered burn. “I’m sure that he thought it was amusing to hit on my brother, since he’s already perved on my boyfriend this year.”

“Is this Brown character giving you a hard time, Kurt?” Burt asks. “You know how I feel about that.”

“No, he’s just a self-centered asshole who thinks he’s god’s gift to women _and_ men.” 

“Really?” Carole shakes her head. “Manners. Manners are important.” Carole sets the fruit on the table and looks a little distracted. “Well, Finn, I’m sure he’ll leave you alone if you’re upfront with him.”

“He’s really not bothering me or anything, mom,” Finn says. “He was just giving Kurt a hard time. Seriously. Didn’t upset me.” His eyebrows squish together and his guilty look briefly crosses his face. “Really. It’s cool.”

“If you’re sure,” Carole says dubiously. “Well, boys, breakfast is ready. Burt?”

Burt folds his paper and sets it to the side. “Looks great, honey. No more Brown talk at the table, okay guys? Peaceful family meal for once?”

“I’m perfectly happy pretending he doesn’t exist,” Kurt agrees as they sit down. “We did neglect one small detail with Casey and his car,” he says to Burt.

“Oh? What’s that? Everything looks great,” Burt says, frowning. “What’d we miss?”

“Casey doesn’t know how to drive a manual,” Kurt answers ruefully. “So he’ll have to get up to speed with that.”

Burt chuckles. “I guess that would be a problem. Still, I’ve got a feeling that’s something the Karofskys can probably manage. If not, I’m happy to give him the same crash course I gave you.”

“Probably so,” Kurt agrees. 

“But the party was fun for him?” Carole asks. “Everyone had a good time?”

“Casey was excited. Like, _really_ excited,” Finn says. “A little slow on the uptake about the car. I think his brain was broken.”

“The only person even close to as excited was Rachel with the karaoke machine,” Puck agrees. Finn groans in protest. “What? You didn’t like her rendition of Cher?” Puck laughs. 

“Uh, not especially, dude,” Finn says.

“Cher?” Carole asks, looking puzzled. “Like ‘Gypsies Tramps and Thieves’?”

“No. ‘If I Could Turn Back Time’,” Kurt answers her, making a face. 

“Ohh.” Carole gives Finn an appraising look. 

“Uh, _no_ ,” Finn says to Carole. “Not happening.”

“Okay, just a thought,” Carole says. 

“It’s better like this,” Finn says. “Seriously.”

“But yes, Rachel enjoyed the karaoke. We also learned Casey should _not_ be in glee club. Ever.”

“Yeah, he’s definitely not a singer,” Finn says. “But he was, uh. Enthusiastic, I guess? And he made Karofsky dance, and that’s impressive.”

“I’m not sure Karofsky thought so,” Puck laughs. 

“David looks perpetually surprised,” Kurt comments. “Or rather, like he’s not sure how he got to wherever he happens to be.”

“It’s gonna be worse now that Casey has a car,” Finn says. “Now Casey can drive him places instead of just, like, dragging him there, and Karofsky’ll be extra confused about how he got there.” Kurt and Puck both laugh, because yeah, that sounds about right. 

“Oh!” Carole says like she’s just remembered something. “I hate to change the subject, but have any of your other friends heard about their colleges?”

Kurt looks immediately pained, and Puck’s pretty sure he doesn’t look much better. 

“Mike and Tina both got into schools in Boston,” Finn says. “So that’s nice.”

“Oh, that is,” Carole agrees. “Which schools?”

“Boston Conservatory for Mike, Wellesley for Tina,” Kurt answers. 

“Impressive!”

“Still just a Badger,” Finn adds. 

“Mike’s doing dancing, right?” Burt asks. Puck nods. “And Tina’s doing what, exactly?”

“I don’t think she’s completely decided,” Kurt answers. “I’m sure she’ll have plenty of choices, though.”

“She seems like a smart girl,” Burt says. 

“She is.” Kurt nods. “As far as everyone else, I think they’re still waiting for at least one school.”

“It’s so nice for everyone, going off to the schools they’ve picked!” 

Finn gives Carole a what–the–fuck look. “Uh, mom. Maybe, you know, we can just not talk about this any more?”

“Oh, sure, honey,” Carole continues, still oblivious. “Well, I hope you boys have a productive day.”

“I’m sure we will,” Kurt says. “Between Mike and Finn. Oh, and let’s not forget. Schue’s sandwiches.”

Finn laughs. “Yeah, those are important, sandwiches!”

“Hey, he’s _contributing_ ,” Puck protests. “We’re supposed to give him credit for that or something.”

“Oh, definitely,” Kurt nods, suppressing a snort. 

“Better than co— uh, blocking our rehearsals, right?” Finn says, interrupting himself halfway through with a fake cough. 

Puck laughs. “Yeah, better than that, dude.”

They finish breakfast in relative silence, helping Carole clear the table before pouring three more cups of coffee and heading out to the Nav. When they arrive at the school, Mike’s already there, frowning and muttering to himself, and Schue enters just a moment later, brandishing doughnuts. 

Everyone else trickles in after that with varying degrees of enthusiasm and wakefulness. Mercedes and Quinn come in together, clearly bitching about something; Sam trails behind them, looking less than enthused, though periodically Mercedes does turn and flash him a smile. Brittany enters with her usual level of pep, though Santana looks like she could probably stand another hour or two of sleep. Rachel is wearing ballet clothes and gives Finn a look that’s probably meant to be coy. Finn looks away hastily and Puck has to turn his own head to hide his laugh. 

“Okay,” Mike announces suddenly, looking around the auditorium and seeing everyone there. He looks at Finn and nods. 

“Well, I guess it’s that time again, folks,” Finn says, addressing the group. “Hopefully everybody got a good night’s sleep, but if not, I hope you at least left your bitching shoes at home today. Mike’s gonna spend the next six hours or so torturing us until we don’t suck, so the faster you don’t suck, the faster he can stop. I don’t know what Mike’s timeline looks like, but I was thinking we might jump right into ‘Somebody Told Me’ before we wake up enough to realize how awful it is.”

Mike chuckles. “Also, we’ll be able to eat after we finish it, and do something less strenuous after eating.”

“Like napping,” Finn says, with a nod. “Or lying down on the ground and dying.”

“Hopefully there won’t be any actual dying. Melodramatic dying will be allowed in small doses.”

“Yeah, what Mike said,” Finn agrees. “Mr. Schue, if you’ll, uh, watch us and then tell us how it looks from out there, that’d rock.”

“Sure, sure,” Mr. Schue nods, looking intrigued. Then again, he’s not seen how they work, so maybe it is interesting for him. Schue takes a seat about halfway up the auditorium, still chewing on a doughnut. 

“All right, let’s get into our pairs. Every couple’s going to do the same basic moves during most of the song, but there will be one part where everyone’s doing something just a little different. For instance, a pairing like Finn and Rachel, there’s a lot more tossing that can be done than with, say, you two.” Mike glances at Kurt and Puck, and they both nod. Puck doesn’t really want to be tossed, and he’s pretty sure Kurt doesn’t either. 

Mike and Brittany show them all the basic sequence, and then everyone repeats it, a variation of what they’ve already been working on during the week. Puck and Kurt glance over at Finn, or specifically at his hand. Rachel apparently hasn’t noticed the big bandage wrapped around it, because she keeps gripping Finn by that hand, or grabbing him by the wrist to reposition his hands on her waist or arm for the different steps. Finn, for his part, seems to be suffering through it silently, though he winces slightly when Rachel takes his hand. 

“Maybe we _should_ have told Carole he needed to see the doctor,” Kurt mutters. “Some kind of big colorful bandage might get her attention.”

“Not unless it had a gold star on it,” Puck snorts.

Kurt presses his lips together, clearly trying not to laugh out loud. When they end up dancing closer to Finn and Rachel, Puck can hear Finn mutter “fuck” every time Rachel clasps his hand in hers. 

“Good to know you’re oblivious,” Kurt hisses to Rachel, who just looks confused as they dance away. Then she turns her face up to Finn and bats her eyelashes at him. Finn, however, doesn’t even glance down at Rachel. 

“I’m suddenly doubting her commitment to professionalism,” Puck says quietly as they wait for Mike to finish instructing Santana and Quinn. 

“Yes,” Kurt agrees, nodding. “She needs to get over it.”

“Rachel Berry, get over something?” Puck laughs. “Yeah, right.”

“Nevermind,” Kurt concedes. 

Three hours pass before Mike is satisfied, and Mr. Schue leaves and returns with sandwiches. Before they eat, Mike has them do a complete run-through, and they all rush the table with the food as Schue compliments their performance. 

“What an amazing process! I’m really impressed, you guys.”

Finn seems to find the process of unwrapping his sandwich to be somewhat daunting, and they watch him pin the sandwich down with his elbow so he can get the paper off, and then try to hold the whole thing together with one hand while he takes a bite. Half the contents of the sandwich drop out onto the paper, and Finn sighs, putting down his sandwich and attempting to reassemble it. At that point, Kurt sighs as well, and the two of them scoot over towards Finn. 

“How’s your hand?” Kurt asks quietly.

“Fine, it’s fine, I’m fine,” Finn says, still jabbing bits of meat and cheese back into his sandwich. “Little, uh, sore or whatever.”

Kurt rolls his eyes. “A little?” he challenges.

“I’ve gotta be the leader. I can’t sit around bitching about my hand and lead people.”

“There’s bitching and there’s honesty,” Puck shrugs. He leans a little closer and wrinkles his nose. “Ew, dude.”

Finn looks down at his hand and shrugs with one shoulder. “Yeah, I think the blisters popped or something.”

“Finn.” Kurt sighs, then raises his voice. “Mr. Schue, could you bring me a fresh bottle of water?”

“Uh, sure,” Schue calls back, but Kurt’s already pulling Finn’s hand towards him and unwrapping the bandage. 

“All right, we need to clean this off and put fresh ointment on it,” Kurt says. “You don’t want it to get infected.”

Finn winces pre-emptively, but seems to set his jaw before he nods. When Schue arrives with the water, Kurt makes something of a production out of cleaning off Finn’s hand and then rebandaging it. Finn grits his teeth, but doesn’t make any noise through it. 

“There!” Kurt says loudly when he finishes. “Hopefully that will keep it feeling better.” He hands Finn more ibuprofen, too, which Finn takes, offering Kurt a small smile. 

“We should skip this song at rehearsal tomorrow night,” Puck suggests. “Not really enough room at Mike’s anyway, and that’d give your hand until at least Tuesday to heal.”

“Thanks, you guys,” Finn says. “It feels a little better now.”

“Good.” Kurt nods once, then shivers. “Fuck, now I’m cold again.” He stands up and crosses the room to his bag, putting away the first aid supplies and pulling on his sweatshirt; Puck’s pretty much given up on ever getting it back. 

“McKinley football?” Mercedes suddenly says. “Boo, that’s too big for you to have worn it when you were on the team sophomore year.” Her voice is awfully friendly for someone who’s not been friendly at all with Kurt for a few weeks, but Puck chalks it up to some kind of senior year nostalgia thing. 

“I stole it from my boyfriend,” Kurt shrugs, not blinking. 

“It’s probably one of Finn’s old sweatshirts,” Quinn says. “From freshman or sophomore year. He never throws anything away. Kurt probably doesn’t own a lot of sweatshirts.”

“Well, he didn’t keep you around,” Puck mutters under his breath, even as Mike walks over to Kurt and slings an arm around his shoulder.

“Nah, it’s mine. Tina, sweetheart, I’m sorry, but it’s true. Kurt and I are having a torrid affair.”

Tina giggles madly. “That’s okay, Mike. I bet it’s really hot, so as long as you let me watch!”

“Okay!” Schue calls out. “That’s probably enough of that. Everybody almost done with lunch?”

“You don’t think we need a little, uh, ‘afternoon delight’?” Puck calls back, laughing. 

“Not on school property, no,” Schue says. “Finn? Mike? What’s up next?”

“Let’s go ahead and work on ‘This Is War’,” Mike answers thoughtfully. “The choreography for the duet isn’t as complicated, even including the back-up dancers.”

“Wait, there’s back up dancers?” Finn looks confused. 

“I thought it’d add a little,” Mike shrugs. 

“Sure. Whatever you think looks good, dude.” Finn looks around the room at everyone. “You guys ready to jump back into it?”

There’s a few nods, and no complaints, at least not verbal ones, so they all head back up onto the stage to be positioned by Mike. Luckily for Finn, there’s no hand-holding in the set. Unluckily for all of them, it’s a little more vigorous than the first sequence Mike had envisioned. 

“And remember, we’re leaning to _stage_ left and _stage_ right, so that to the audience, we’re going in the correct direction!” Mike says for probably the twentieth time in the last two weeks. 

“Even Hudson’s figured out stage left and stage right by now, so if any of you screw that up…” Santana trails off with a slight smirk.

Puck rolls his eyes at her. “Cool it, Lopez.”

“What?”

Puck just looks at her and raises one eyebrow until she rolls her own eyes and looks away. “Fine,” she mutters. “Everyone in this room is an intelligent human being who knows stage directions.”

“See, that wasn’t so hard.”

“And some of you are unbelievably annoying anyway.”

“Okay, okay. From the beginning!” Mike says. 

 

After Mike is finally satisfied, Tina announces loudly that she and Mike were planning on going to Golden Corral, and who else wants to come? Enough of them decline that Kurt finds himself voluntold into driving, Tina, Mike, and Brittany in the back while Santana and Finn sit behind Puck and Kurt. 

They’re all seated and working on their first plates when Santana puts her fork down. “So. I heard from the last of my schools.”

“And?” Tina asks. “Good news?”

“Mixed bag,” Santana admits. “Rejections from my reach schools, which, not actually all that surprising. Pending a major change of heart, though, I’m heading to Mills.”

“Where’s Mills?” Finn asks. “What kind of school is that?”

“It’s a women’s college in Oakland, near San Francisco. They offered me some legitimate scholarship money too, not just token amounts.”

“That’s great,” Kurt congratulates her. “Did you visit it before?”

Santana laughs. “Nope, not at all. Hopefully I don’t hate the campus when I get there, right?” She smirks. “If I do, I’ll just have to fix it so I like it better.”

“Yeah, you would,” Puck nods, leaning back and putting his arm around Kurt’s shoulders. Everyone there knows and no one bats an eye and _fuck_ that’s part of the reason they just need to get out of fucking Lima. 

“Still waiting?”

Puck rolls his eyes. “Still fucking waiting. Hazard of latest possible auditions.”

“Are we the only two still waiting?” Kurt sighs. 

“Q’s heard but hasn’t made up her mind, or some shit like that. So, yeah.”

“No, Rachel,” Tina points out. “I think she’s still waiting. I’m sure we would have heard.”

“Only if it’s good news,” Finn says. “If they told her no, you’d never hear about it.”

“Oooh. I didn’t think about that!” Tina looks torn between being horrified and maybe a little bit giddy. 

“If she doesn’t say anything by a week from Monday, then,” Kurt concludes. 

“What do you think she’d do?” Mike asks. “I mean, surely she knows nothing is guaranteed.”

“Knowing Rach? Threaten them with the ACLU,” Finn snorts. 

“Somehow I doubt that’s as effective with Juilliard as it is with Figgins,” Mike says, laughing a little at Finn’s answer. “I wish her luck with that.”

“I… kind of secretly wish her some place other than New York,” Finn says. “Don’t tell anybody.”

 

The self-righteous churchgoers appear at Starbucks again on Sunday afternoon, though thankfully they just talk about some guy named Timothy and how maybe learning foreign languages is more important than either of them had thought. The rest of the day is lazy—probably a little too lazy, because he and Kurt completely blow off homework, which they’ve been doing all weekend—and they do in fact skip swing dancing when they go to Mike’s for rehearsal. Overall, the weekend might be a little too relaxing, because the tense atmosphere in the halls on Monday morning and in physics during second period is a bit too much like a slap in the face by contrast. 

“I admit I’m having difficulty with this assignment,” Rachel says as they leave English. “I know it sounds simple enough—‘Colors’—and yet.” She sighs. “Do you have a song selected?”

Puck grins because yeah, this was an easy one for him. “Yep. Figured it out within about five minutes, actually.”

Rachel huffs. “I find that disheartening.”

“Dishearten all you like, not gonna make it any less true. Or help you find a song any easier.” Puck shrugs and smirks a little.

“Hmph.” Rachel rolls her eyes as they sit down in the choir room. Schue is walking back and forth across the front of the room, looking at some paperwork. 

The bell rings and he still doesn’t look up, which prompts Finn to walk up to Schue and poke him in the arm. “Uh, Mr. Schue?”

Schue jumps. “Oh! Oh, did the bell ring?” At their nods, he flashes a sheepish grin. “I was just reading about the blood drive later this week. Figgins wants to up participation, so there’s a competition of sorts between various teams and clubs. I want us to have 100% participation!”

“Is there a prize?” Santana asks.

“Is the prize a kitten?” Brittany asks. “Lord Tubbington might like a friend when I go away to college.”

“Uh, no, no kittens, I’m pretty sure,” Schue answers. “But yes, there is supposed to be a prize. Figgins hasn’t announced it yet, he said he would at Thursday morning’s faculty meeting.”

“Mr. Schue, if I may?” Kurt raises one hand slightly. “What are the options for participating if we’re ineligible to give blood?”

Schue frowns as he looks at Kurt. “What do you mean, Kurt?”

“There are specific criteria for who is and is not allowed to give blood. For instance, there is a minimum weight requirement that I’m certain Rachel doesn’t meet, and probably not Quinn, either. I can’t give blood for other reasons.”

“Why can’t you give blood?” Artie asks. “Are you one of those super-rare blood types that they ask not to donate unless there’s an emergency?”

“No, that can’t be it,” Mercedes interjects before Kurt can respond. “He gave blood two years ago, and again fall of junior year.”

“I believe you’ll find the reason under ‘Medical Conditions’,” Kurt answers, “even though I don’t have a medical condition at all. My sexuality is seen as a risk factor for HIV transmission.”

“You can’t give blood because you’re gay?” Mike asks incredulously. “That’s stupid. Of them, I mean.”

“Kurt is perhaps misrepresenting the facts a bit,” Rachel says. “The regulations don’t state anything about how an individual identifies but rather restrict anyone from donating if they’ve had sexual contact with another man, and—” she stops herself and her eyes widen. “Oh. Um.”

Kurt exhales heavily. “Thank you, Rachel.” Puck doesn’t even have to look at Kurt to know that he’s closed his eyes briefly and is turning a light shade of pink. “The entire club needed to know that.”

“Jesus, Rachel,” Finn says. “Filters much?”

Artie looks mildly embarrassed. “I’m sorry I asked questions. Sorry, Kurt.”

“Kurt!” Mercedes looks absolutely scandalized. “Do you mean to tell me that you—?”

“I don’t think he meant to tell you anything,” Puck cuts her off snidely. 

“It was totally the same cougar as me,” Finn says, just loud enough for Puck to hear. Puck has to press his arm against his mouth to contain his laughter. 

“I’m sorry!” Rachel cries. “Sorry, Kurt, I didn’t mean to—!”

“You never _mean to_ ,” Finn snaps at her. 

“Are we going around the room and sharing now?” Santana asks with a mean smile. “You can go first, Berry. Q, we’ll skip you, since we all know that story. If we tried to forget, you’d remind us.” Quinn looks at Santana coldly, but doesn’t respond. 

“What? No!” Rachel cries. “It was just a mistake!”

“Be a pretty short story, anyway,” Finn mutters, again only loud enough for Puck to hear. 

“Why don’t you _mistakenly_ stop talking?” Kurt says coolly. “Or perhaps I’ll _mistakenly_ share some things I know.” Rachel looks at Finn, like he’d back her up or not want whatever Kurt knows to be told. Finn just shrugs. 

“Okay, okay,” Schue finally interjects. “I get the picture. There are multiple reasons someone might not be eligible to donate. I’ll let those of you who are ineligible know what the alternate ways of participating are, by Thursday.”

“Thank you, Mr. Schue,” Kurt inclines his head slightly. “I’m sure we all appreciate it.”

“Of course.” Schue looks somewhat out of his depth as he puts the paperwork he’s been carrying down onto the piano and then claps his hands together. “All right. Let’s get started with our assignment, then. Who wants to start us off?”

“I had a different take on the assignment,” Sam volunteers, standing up with his guitar in hand. “If that’s all right?”

“Sure, let’s hear it, Sam.”

_When I think back  
On all the crap I learned in high school  
It's a wonder  
I can think at all  
And though my lack of education  
Hasn't hurt me none  
I can read the writing on the wall_

_Kodachrome  
They give us those nice bright colors  
They give us the greens of summers  
Makes you think all the world's a sunny day, Oh yeah  
I got a Nikon camera  
I love to take a photograph  
So mama don't take my Kodachrome away_

Puck has to grin, because it definitely fits the assignment but probably not the way that Schue intended. Schue, for his part, has a rueful grin on his face, like he knows he can’t really argue with Sam’s selection. “That was definitely not the interpretation I expected,” Schue concedes. “But yes, it fits the assignment!” He claps a few times for Sam and then scans the room. Artie rolls forward and does a competent, if unremarkable, version of “Purple Haze” which is followed by a cute rendition of “It’s Not Easy Being Green” by Brittany. “All right!” Schue says, glancing at the clock. “One more performance today, guys.” 

“Yeah, I’ll go,” Puck volunteers with a grin. He picks up his guitar and sits on the edge of a stool at the front. “This is by Cary Brothers.”

_Wish enough, wise man'll tell you a lie  
Window broke, torn up screens  
Who'd have thought that you'd dream  
Of a single tragic scene_

_I just wanna sing a song with you  
I just want to take it off of you_

_Cause Blue Eyes  
You are all that I need  
Cause Blue Eyes  
You're the sweet to my mean_

When the chorus registers with Kurt’s brain, he bites his lip and the earlier pink spreads again, but he doesn’t look around. Finn has a pleased look on his face like he’s in on some kind of secret, which technically he is. He keeps sneaking looks over at Kurt and then looking back at Puck, grinning.

_Cause Blue Eyes  
You're the secret I keep_

When Puck finishes, he barely gets back to a chair before the bell rings, and Schue’s calling after them as they vacate the room. “Don’t forget! Blood drive on Thursday and Friday! And great job on Saturday, guys!”

“You think you’re very clever, don’t you?” Kurt murmurs, a smile playing on his face.

“Nope,” Puck answers cheerfully. “I know I am.”

Kurt snorts. “That too, I suppose.” Kurt scans the room, and apparently finds or doesn’t find what he’s looking for, because the next thing Kurt does is step close to Puck, wrapping his arms around Puck’s neck and pressing their lips together. Puck isn’t sure who deepens the kiss, just that his tongue is sliding along Kurt’s and his fingers are tangling in Kurt’s hair and he doesn’t really care that they’re in the choir room and anyone could walk back in. Kurt’s leg presses against Puck’s erection and Puck returns the favor, backing them against the wall. Puck slides one hand slowly down Kurt’s back, dipping his fingers just under Kurt’s waistband before resting his palm on the curve of Kurt’s ass, using it to draw Kurt even closer. 

“Oh, _god_ , you guys. I am _so_ sorry!”

Puck blinks and Kurt looks just as startled as they separate slightly and look over at Finn. “Oh,” Kurt says faintly. 

“I, uh. I forgot my hoodie,” Finn says, pointing at his chair. “I’m going to, uh. Get my hoodie and then leave. Just getting that right now.” He darts over to the chair and grabs the hoodie. “Leaving now!”

Kurt giggles a little as Finn heads out the door. “Probably we should relocate.”

Puck laughs. “Yeah, probably.” He moves his hand to Kurt’s waist as they pick up their stuff. “Fucking dual enrollment.”

“Yes,” Kurt agrees. “Exactly.” 

 

Puck decides around 5:30 that his room is as cleared out as he’s going to get it before he has to start actually getting rid of furniture and things. Hannah and his mom arrive home just a few minutes later, Hannah chattering about her ideas for the science fair next month. Rina’s just nodding, looking a little wild-eyed, especially by the time Hannah has mentioned ‘hypothesis’ for the third time in two minutes. 

“And my teacher said maybe I could do something about cooking!”

“Well, we’ll see,” Rina finally answers. 

“I need to go to the library to check some books out,” Hannah continues, then spies Puck. “Noah can take me! Right, Noah?”

“Sure,” Puck shrugs. “Can it wait until spring break?”

“Yeah,” Hannah nods after a moment. “Okay!”

“Do you mind helping her find this tri-fold board she needs, too?” Rina addresses Puck. “I just can’t remember what she’s talking about, even though I’m sure you used one.”

“Yeah, sure,” Puck tells her. “We’ll take care of it next week, right squirt?”

“Yay!”

“But for now you two need to take care of the salad while I cook these vegetables,” Rina concludes, and Kurt joins them after another ten minutes, the four of them sitting down to fajitas, black beans, and salad. 

“Your clothes for class didn’t get dry until late,” Rina tells Hannah as they’re eating. “But they’re on your bed now.”

“Great!” Hannah grins. “When I get home, I need you to quiz me on the last set of states and capitals.”

“I thought you did your homework during after school care.”

“I did, Mom,” Hannah says patiently. “But I can’t quiz myself!”

“Oh, oh, right,” Rina nods. 

“Besides,” Hannah continues. “I really want to do something like piano lessons or maybe softball during after school care. That’d be a lot more fun!”

“Well, we’ll think about it, all right, Hannah?” Rina reassures her with a slight smile. “Give the boys a chance to talk, now.”

“Okay! How was _your_ school?”

Puck shrugs, an action mirrored by Kurt. “Okay,” Puck finally answers. “It feels like we’re just waiting for the end, now.”

“You still haven’t heard from either of those colleges, Noah?”

“No.” Puck sighs. “Auditions were only three weeks ago, Mom. It’s not that surprising.”

“I suppose not.” Rina pastes a smile on her face. “I’m sure you’ll have news soon!”

“Yeah, well, they gotta do something by Sunday,” Puck snorts. Kurt’s hand rests on his thigh, squeezing gently, and Puck puts his hand over it. At least they’re both suffering together, though it’s small consolation. 

 

The best use of class time at this point, in Puck’s opinion, is doing sample exams, and then correcting them and reviewing whatever he’s missed. The downside is that he’s having to scrounge to find sample exams online, and there are only three or four prep books that he can find on amazon. Still, he gives in to the inevitable and orders one of them using his phone on Tuesday afternoon. It’s not like he’s going to place out of any classes based on his AP score, but by this point, dammit, he’s invested enough time in the class that he just wants a damn four or five for himself. 

After Kurt picks him up, they go to Kurt’s and Puck stares at the laptop after Kurt passes it to him. “No news?” he stalls.

“No news. Pace says Friday. Marymount says between Wednesday and Saturday.”

“This sucks.”

“Yes,” Kurt agrees, sighing. “Your turn.”

Puck looks at Mannes’ site first, but all it says is ‘admissions decisions will be posted no later than 6 pm ET on Saturday, March 31, 2012’.

“Nice.” Puck snorts and directs the browser towards MSM. He logs in and then frowns. “Fuck.”

“What?”

“The little notice is gone.”

“Which means?”

“Which means they must’ve posted the decisions.”

“Oh.” Kurt rests his head on Puck’s shoulder and Puck looks down in time to see Kurt’s eyes closing. “Okay, baby.”

Puck exhales and clicks on the link, then scrolls down the page. “Well, fuck.”

“What?”

“Waitlisted.”

Kurt straightens and looks at the screen. “Well.”

“Yeah. I guess.” Puck shrugs. “I have no fucking clue, actually.” He sighs. “I guess I’ll tell them to leave me on the waitlist? Or should I wait for Saturday?”

“Wait for Saturday,” Kurt says decisively after a moment. “You’re not going to need their waitlist.”

“I hope not.”

 

Puck considers making a petition to ban Wednesdays. They fall right after Tuesdays, which already means that they are a huge letdown. There’s nothing interesting about them, either; school and dual enrollment and then work. The only good part about it is that this quarter he and Kurt actually share a dual enrollment class on “America’s Musical Heritage.” There aren’t many people in the class and Puck decides by Wednesday there’s no point in pretending there, which makes the class more enjoyable. 

Well, not so much that it makes the class more enjoyable as any time he’s getting to actually touch Kurt is automatically more enjoyable. 

Work is a little different than usual because Puck told Casey to drop by between 4:30 and 5, while Ms. Horatio is still there. “This is a friend of yours?” she asks as Puck arrives. 

“Yeah, he’s a sophomore. Rough life so far, you know?” Puck shrugs. “I mean, he could probably get a job somewhere else, but you’ve been cool about.” He makes a vague gesture. 

“Ah. Yes.” She grins. “I understand. He needs a place to land.”

“Yeah, exactly,” Puck nods. 

Casey arrives at 4:32, dressed in a polo shirt and slacks, having obviously made some sort of effort to tuck his hair behind his ears, at least. Karofsky trails along behind him, and Puck leans over to Ms. Horatio to whisper. “That’s his bodyguard.”

She grins. “Noted.” 

“Puck! Hi!” Casey says. “I drove us here! In the _car_!”

“Hey, Casey,” Puck greets him. “And good. Figuring out the manual transmission okay?”

“We kept dying at stop lights,” Karofsky says, but he’s smiling slightly. “It’s getting there.”

“Oh, hush,” Casey says, affectionately. “That only happened twice. Twice out of, well, a lot of stop lights, isn’t bad or anything.” He looks at Puck for confirmation. “That’s not bad, right?”

“You’ll get better,” Puck assures him. “So, anyway, Casey, this is Ms. Horatio, the manager here. Ms. Horatio, this is Casey, and that’s Karofsky back there.” Karofsky sort of waves and nods, then goes back to studying the display of travel mugs. 

Casey extends his hand, still as oddly formal as he was at his birthday. “It’s very nice to meet you. He’s actually David when he’s not playing football.”

“Nice to meet you too,” Ms. Horatio says, taking Casey’s hand. “So I don’t know what you’ve been told so far.”

“I told him about how you’re a slave driver,” Puck grins. “No breaks, no coffee, just espresso, espresso, espresso.”

“No, he didn’t say that,” Casey says, shaking his head vigorously. “He said you were very nice and Starbucks is a great place to work and I shouldn’t drink too much coffee because I don’t need all that caffeine.”

Karofsky makes a funny noise behind Casey, which is probably him agreeing with the last part of Casey’s statement. “Why’s it so great?” Karofsky asks, like he’s the gatekeeper of Casey, which he pretty much is.

“Bennies,” Puck answers. “And Benjamins, too.” At Casey’s perplexed look, he elaborates. “Benefits. And starting pay isn’t much above minimum wage, but we get tips every week, too. I pretty much use the tips for eating out and stuff, don’t have to touch my paycheck for that.”

“It’s true, we have good benefits,” Ms. Horatio agrees. Casey looks wide-eyed, possibly at the prospect of a paycheck in general. “Tuition reimbursement down the road, insurance if you need it, discounts on all sorts of things.”

“Cell phone service,” Puck mentions. “Apple, too. And well.” He looks around and shrugs. “Domestic partner benefits. Not everyone does.”

“Oh, wow. That’s really cool!” Casey seems suitably impressed. “All of that!”

“Anyway.” Puck moves to the side to take an order, and Ms. Horatio sits down at a table with Casey, Karofsky still hovering near the travel mugs. After the customer walks away, Puck leans against the counter. “Coffee, Karofsky?”

“What? Oh, yeah.” He walks closer, shaking his head slightly. “Good idea. Uh. Cappuccino, the medium size, whatever that is.”

“Grande,” Puck supplies, fixing the drink quickly. “And here I thought you’d be one for an iced mocha or a frappucino.”

Karofsky snorts. “Yeah, not so much. You?”

“Americano. Usually venti,” Puck amends, laughing. 

“So this place – really is decent?”

Puck nods. “Yeah. I kinda fell into it, to be honest, but. Been here a year, and I’ll be able to transfer stores in the fall, so. Yeah. Good deal.”

Karofsky looks torn between being impressed and a little confused, for whatever reason, but he nods and takes a drink of his cappuccino. “Well. Casey’s really excited. I think it’ll mean a lot to have his own money.”

“Yeah, I can understand that,” Puck nods. And he does, probably in a way Karofsky can’t. 

Casey and Ms. Horatio finish up after about fifteen minutes, and Casey comes bouncing back over to stand next to Karofsky. “She’s so _nice_! This place is so _cool_!”

“You gonna take it, then?” Karofsky asks him. 

Casey nods rapidly. “Oh my gosh, yes. Definitely yes.”

“Cool,” Karofsky nods. 

“What’s your schedule?” Puck asks. 

“Tuesdays and Thursdays and Friday from four to nine,” Casey says. “And in the mornings on Saturdays. We can just go to the center after, if we wanna go.”

“Opening once, closing the other times,” Puck nods. “Yeah, she likes everyone to know how to do all of the different jobs. You start tomorrow or next week?”

“Friday. Oh! I don’t have black pants! I have to have black pants, David, or I can’t work at Starbucks.” Casey seems extremely distressed. 

“Well, we can go buy some at Wal-Mart,” Karofsky suggests. 

“Do I have black shirts? I don’t even know if I _have_ black shirts. Have you seen me in a black shirt, David, because I don’t remember if I have one or not!”

“You want a couple that are just for work,” Puck interjects. “Trust me. They start to smell like coffee constantly. I change before school in the morning.”

“But coffee smells good,” Casey says.

“Yeah, for the first twenty-eight hours or so,” Puck laughs. “Really, trust me on this one.”

 

Finn skips his English class to donate blood. Well, he doesn’t actually _skip_ ; they’re allowed to leave to go donate. He puts his name down on the list and he waits, and then he gets handed some laminated sheet of paper to read and he waits, and then he has to fill out some forms and he waits. Finn is starting to think about raiding the table with the juice and cookies when he finally gets called to go into the little cubicle thingies they have set up in the gym. 

Once he’s in there, he has to read over _another_ form, and then the lady in the scrubs starts eyeballing Finn’s bandaged hand.

“What did you do to yourself?” she finally asks, tone artificially light. 

“Mac ’n’ cheese,” Finn says. When her face remains blank, he adds, “Burned myself on it.”

“Ohh.” She nods slowly. “Good. Keep it bandaged. You have antibiotic ointment for it?”

“Yeah, my brother and his boyfriend put some on there for me every morning,” Finn says. “Which is good, since it’s hard to do two-handed stuff like that when you’ve only got one hand.”

“That’s very nice of them,” the lady says almost absently, and then pokes him in the finger with the poker–thing and squeezes out a big drop of blood to put in the whatever–it–is. Whatever the drop of blood is supposed to do, it apparently does it, because then she starts firing off questions at him from this long list. It’s mostly diseases—which he doesn’t have—and foreign travel—which he hasn’t done—and stuff about cows. “Do you weigh over one hundred ten pounds?” she asks with a laugh. 

Finn looks down at himself and then back up at her. “I sure hope so, or I’m gonna be really confused about why I keep hitting my head on low–hanging lights.”

She laughs again. “All right, almost done. Just a few standard questions about high-risk activity.” She asks about illegal drugs and prostitutes, first. “Okay, and have you ever had sex with a man, even one time?”

Finn opens his mouth to answer, because he knew there was something about sex with men on here, and he doesn’t _have_ sex with men, like, regularly or anything, but that’s not how the question’s phrased. “Uh, can you repeat the question?”

“Oh, we have to ask everyone that,” the lady reassures him. “We just need to know if you’ve ever had sex with a man, even once.”

“But… _why_?”

“It’s part of the federal regulations surrounding blood donation.” She shrugs a little and smiles again. “It’s on the list, so I have to ask.”

“What happens if somebody says yes?”

“Any man who has had sex with another man is prohibited from giving blood.”

“Even if it only happened once?” Finn asks, because, _shit_ , he should have studied ahead for this test or something, because he’s about to _fail_.

“Even then,” the lady nods, and she’s not really smiling any more, though at least she doesn’t look angry or anything. 

“And I _have_ to answer all the questions?”

“Yes. We have to have a negative answer to all questions except for the questions about weight and how you feel today.”

“I, uh.” Finn looks around the cubicle a little. Anywhere but at the lady in the scrubs. “I, uh.”

“Adolescence is a confusing time,” she says sympathetically. “It’s normal to experiment.”

“Huh? I’m not confused. I mean, the _questions_ are kinda confusing,” Finn says. “They just don’t make any sense. I mean, isn’t that what the… the… _you know_.” He drops his voice. “The _swab test_ thing is for.”

“After several high-profile cases of donor to recipient transmission of HIV, federal regulations were amended.” She shrugs. “The FDA prefers to reject donors that would probably be fine rather than take the chance of transmission.”

“So if I say yes, I don’t get to donate blood, and if I say no, then I do?” Finn asks. “I mean, that’s the rule, right?”

“Yes,” she answers slowly. “But we prefer an honest answer, rather than the one that a donor thinks we’d like to hear.”

“Can I have a minute to think about it?”

“Why don’t you just go get some of the cookies and juice and head back to class?” she says, tone still full of sympathy. “All right?”

“Ok. Yeah, ok, I guess I should do that,” Finn says. “Sorry.” 

“It’s not a problem.” She reaches into one of the rolling drawers that’s next to her chair and pulls out a sticker and hands it to him. Finn takes the sticker and looks down at it. It says ‘I Tried’. Well, that’s the statement of the century, right there.

 

Puck and Kurt wait until about twenty-five minutes into physics to ask to be excused to donate blood. Mrs. Strandberg glares at them but doesn’t argue, and they walk towards the gymnasium laughing. 

“Why exactly are we doing this?”

“Can’t say we didn’t try,” Kurt answers with a little shrug. “Plus, I rather like the idea of making a point. ‘Hi, I was and am willing to donate blood, you say you have a shortage of my blood type, and I am healthy. Yet, you turn me away based on antiquated rules’.”

“True.” 

They sign in and sign some kind of form and wait for awhile, and then Kurt disappears into one of the cubicles only to return about three minutes later. He holds up the little ‘I Tried’ sticker and rolls his eyes, then loiters by the drinks and cookies while the same woman calls Puck in. 

He sits down and she starts to take his finger to check for anemia or whatever. “Yeah, you might as well save yourself some time.”

“Oh?”

“You’re going to turn me down in about three minutes, anyway.”

“I am?” The woman looks confused. 

“I have had sex with another man. I do have sex with another man, on a regular basis.” Puck shrugs. “Five out of the last seven days. It’d be six, but you know. Not even ten am yet. So.” He grins. “You can give me my sticker now and I’ll go catch up with my boyfriend by the cookies.”

“Goodness.” She doesn’t even look at him, just grabs one of the stickers from her drawers and hands it over. “I’ve never had so many of you in one morning.”

“We are everywhere,” Puck agrees, though he wonders what kind of places she works where two is ‘so many’. “Thanks anyway. I know you don’t make the rules.”

“No,” she agrees. “Have a nice day.”

“You too!”

Puck does in fact find Kurt near the cookies, and they quickly realize that the bell for third period has already rung. Kurt sighs. “I know I shouldn’t skip AP English, but now even we’re reading _Cat on a Hot Tin Roof_ , and she’s admitted it’s not really part of the syllabus for the exam.”

“Hang out in the choir room until fourth?”

“Yes.”

Rachel shows up first for once, frowning at the two of them. “Where were you in class, Noah?”

“Noooahhh and I were attempting to give blood,” Kurt answers for her. “Funny, they didn’t want it.”

“They didn’t want mine, either,” Rachel sighs, and sure enough, she’s sporting an ‘I Tried’ sticker as well. 

By the time the bell rings, Puck’s decided that most of them have already decided to give blood, or try to give blood. Sam does a double take when he walks in. “They wouldn’t take your blood, Puck?”

“Didn’t even make it past the anemia test,” Puck nods solemnly, because hey, it’s totally true.

“You should take some iron supplements for that,” Mercedes offers. “Especially before having any dental work done.”

“I’ll keep that in mind,” Puck nods again. 

Finn comes walking into the room with his body positioned oddly and sits in the chair next to Puck, turning his torso slightly in the other direction. “Hey,” he says.

“Dude,” Puck shrugs in greeting. 

“Finn!” Rachel exclaims. “Why not?”

“Why not what?” Finn asks. “I didn’t do it. Or not do it. Whatever it is.”

“Your sticker!” Rachel continues. “They wouldn’t let you give blood?”

“Uh.” And there’s Finn’s guilty face. “I weighed under a hundred and ten pounds.”

Well, fuck. Finn must’ve answered all the questions honestly. “That’s silly!” Rachel giggles. “Was it because of your hand?”

“No, I told you. Under a hundred and ten.”

She shakes her head and turns to talk to Tina about something else. 

“Under a hundred and ten?” Puck snorts. “Right. And I have anemia,” he adds, voice low. 

“The questions were… confusing,” Finn says. “They, uh. Phrased them weird.”

“Uh-huh,” Puck says, disbelievingly. Finn gives Puck a pleading look. “Okay, dude,” Puck says, shaking his head minutely. “Burnt hand’s not a bad story either,” he adds in a whisper.

“Thanks, dude,” Finn says, finally relaxing from his weird posture. “Yeah. Burnt hand.”

“Fucking weird rules,” Puck says a little louder.

 

Kurt shows up about twenty minutes before the final bell, clutching his phone somewhat tightly in his hand. “Tell me just to go ahead and do it.”

“They’re posted?”

Kurt nods and sits down next to Puck on the piano bench. “Pace and Marymount both. I just. Ugh. I should wait until I get home, but.”

Puck slides his arm around Kurt and pulls him flush against his side. “Nah. You’ll be distracted during rehearsal. At least this way you’ll be distracted in a very certain sort of way.”

“True.” Kurt sighs heavily and pulls up the page for Pace first. “Okay. Here goes nothing, right?”

“Right.” Puck puts his other hand on Kurt’s thigh and squeezes it gently. 

“Damn.” 

“Damn?”

“Nope,” Kurt explains. He doesn’t sound _too_ upset. “They left a note attached to it. Apparently they feel it’s ‘for the best’ because there is a countertenor in the current freshman class, and we’d be competing too much for roles.”

“Nice,” Puck says sardonically. 

“Right?” Kurt sighs again. “Okay. Marymount.”

“Yep.”

Kurt fumbles with the phone for a minute, then scrolls down and exhales. “Oh. Oh.”

“Oh?” Puck tries to peer at the screen. 

“Oh, _yes_ ,” Kurt clarifies. “Yes. Holy. Fuck. Baby, I got in.” Kurt looks sort of stunned, and Puck has to chuckle. 

“I knew you would,” he says smugly. 

“You did not!” Kurt retorts, poking him.

“I did!” Puck grabs Kurt in a hug. “You did good, blue eyes.”

“I’m in shock,” Kurt admits. “And, fuck! Financial aid! I have to wait for the actual letter for that. And you’re still waiting. And oh, god, it’s a whole new set of lists and waiting!”

“Just enjoy it for an hour or two, at least,” Puck suggests with a grin. “Okay?” He presses his lips to Kurt’s without waiting for a response. Kurt finally relaxes against him, and Puck has to make himself stay a little more aware of their surroundings than he was on Monday. 

“Okay,” Kurt says breathlessly when they finally pull apart. “But only if you help me celebrate later.”

Puck grins. “I think I can handle that.” He stands and pulls Kurt with him. “We’ll just keep that door closed.”

“Yes.” Kurt returns the grin as the bell rings and they find their seats. 

Schue beams at all of them when he enters the room. “All right! Let’s get our performances going and then we’ll talk about the blood drive!”

Santana stands up and delivers a knock-out performance of ‘Black Magic Woman’. Brittany seems to especially enjoy the song and once Santana finishes, Schue doubles over. 

“Santana doing Santana,” he grins, nodding at her. “Nice choice.”

“I’ll go next,” Kurt volunteers, standing with a little smile. 

_I promise I'm not trying to make your life harder  
Or return to where we were _

_I will go down with this ship  
And I won't put my hands up and surrender  
There will be no white flag above my door  
I'm in love and always will be_

“Dido, right?” Schue asks, and Kurt nods minutely, the same small almost smug smile on his lips. “Good choice for the assignment. Who’s up next?”

Mike has a lot of fun with ‘Brown Eyed Girl’, setting Tina off into giggles from the first couple of measures. When he finishes, he sits down next to Tina and wraps his arm around her shoulders, and Finn stands up to sing.

_Look at the stars,  
Look how they shine for you,  
And everything you do,  
Yeah, they were all yellow._

Rachel perks up at the opening lyrics, looking all excited, but Finn doesn’t look in her direction. He’s not even ignoring her, so much as she doesn’t seem to ping his radar at all. Finn seems to find the line “for you I’d bleed myself dry” strangely amusing, but sobers up for the rest of the song. 

“Another great choice, Finn. This is a fun assignment.” Schue rubs his hands together. “Now, about the blood drive.” He looks around the room. “I can see that several of you have already given blood…” He trails off. “Or tried. Hmm. Well, the prize is Breadstix and movie passes for the entirety of the club with the highest participation. In the event that more than one club has one hundred percent participation, Figgins will be paying for more dinners.”

“What about those of us who were rejected?” Rachel asks. “So far there’s _four_ of us.”

Schue looks momentarily puzzled as he looks at the four of them. “I can see that. Yes. Trying counts as participation, though a donation of juice or individually wrapped snacks is another good way to participate in the effort!”

“Mac ’n’ cheese,” Finn announces, brandishing his hand. “I tried!”

“Never made it past the anemia test,” Puck nods blandly, and he can hear Santana snort behind him. 

“Turned away on account of being gay,” Kurt shrugs whimsically. 

“And of course I had difficulty because of my small stature.” 

“Well, I managed to give blood,” Sam announces, and beside him, Mercedes nods. Tina and Mike similarly appear to have succeeded. 

“We’re going tomorrow,” Santana declares, apparently speaking for the remaining four of them. “Hopefully none of us have anemia.”

“Right, right,” Schue agrees. “Great. Great. I appreciate everyone’s willingness to participate or at least attempt to participate. Tomorrow we’ll finish up our assignment, too.” With that, he dismisses them, and Puck walks out to the parking lot with Kurt. 

“Pinch me,” Kurt demands.

Puck laughs. “Where?”

Kurt shakes his head, grinning. “You’re incorrigible.”

“I try.” Puck shrugs. They climb into the Nav and he leans across the console, sliding his fingers over Kurt’s shirt and lightly pinching his nipple. Kurt jumps and Puck grins. “Yep, not a dream, blue eyes.”

“I suppose I did ask for that,” Kurt says ruefully, starting the Nav. “Let’s go out to dinner.”

“Okay,” Puck agrees. “Where to?”

“Somewhere in Dayton?” Kurt suggests. “Just away from here, baby.” He pulls off the ‘I Tried’ sticker and drops it on the console. “Somewhere far away from here.”

“We gotta get out of this place,” Puck sings softly. “If it’s the last thing we ever do.”

“Yes.” Kurt nods as he points the Nav south on 75. “We do.”

 

“Now we just have to do this again on Saturday,” Kurt says as they pull into the driveway. 

“Hopefully.”

“No, we will,” Kurt says firmly as they head inside. Burt is watching television, and they wave as they pass the doorway. When they get upstairs, they pause in Finn’s doorway. 

“Oh, hey guys,” Finn says, looking up from his laptop. “Good dinner?”

“It was,” Kurt answers, and Puck nods.

“Yeah, what’d you have?”

“Fish stew.” Finn shudders. “It was… even worse than it sounds.” He close his laptop and sets it on his night stand. 

“I don’t think fish should really be in a stew,” Puck says after a moment. “Should it?”

“Not unless it’s something like bouillabaisse,” Kurt agrees. “Did it have any other seafood in it?”

“No, just onions and peppers and stuff,” Finn says, “and some long green things that I don’t even know what they were. It was just, it was _bad_. It was so bad.”

Puck makes a face and Kurt wrinkles his nose. “Well. I hope there was ice cream?”

“Mom ate the rest of it and didn’t buy more,” Finn says. “It was dinner fail and dessert fail.”

“Pat’s?” Kurt suggests. “We’ve got about an hour and a half before curfew.”

“Yes! I’m starving,” Finn says. “I couldn’t eat any of that stew so I just sorta soaked my bread in it to make it look like I did, then I put the bread underneath my bowl on the plate.”

“Tasty,” Puck laughs. “C’mon.”

They head back out of the house, Kurt sticking his head into the living room to tell Burt their destination, and Burt looks a little sad that he’s not going, too. “You could even get a pizza,” Kurt points out to Finn. “I think we’ll probably just have dessert, though.”

“I might have two desserts instead of pizza,” Finn says. “It was that kind of day.”

“Sometimes, I think it’s that kind of town,” Kurt sighs. 

“Must be that kind of country,” Finn says. “With its… its… _regulations_ and whatever.”

“It’s a mad, mad, mad world,” Puck agrees. “Though I’ve never seen that movie.”

“Is that a movie?” Finn asks. “I thought it was a song. If it’s a movie, I haven’t seen it. Or, I guess I might have and didn’t know.”

“It’s an old movie. Like, before our parents were born old.”

“The song is just ‘Mad World’,” Kurt adds. “Four repetitions of ‘mad’ for the movie.”

“What’s everybody so mad about?” Finn shakes his head. “I think I’ll skip that one.”

“I think it’s actually a comedy.” Kurt shrugs as they park at Pat’s. 

“My life is a comedy,” Finn says. 

“I used to think I wanted my life to be a musical, but now I’m thinking Disney movie. Simple and all the loose ends are tied up,” Kurt snorts. 

“I was holding out for superhero status until a few years ago.”

“I’m still holding out for superheros, but I’m starting to think it’s more like one of those HBO or Showtime shows, instead,” Finn says. “So dramatical.”

“Maybe ‘Mad Men’ to go with our theme.”

“I dunno about that,” Finn says, shaking his head. “Lots of drinking and smoking, and they weren’t very nice to the women.” Finn orders some ice cream and two doughnuts before sitting down at the table. 

“But the clothes were to die for.” Kurt shrugs and sits down with his own ice cream, and Puck slides beside him with his sundae. 

“But replicable,” Puck points out.

“True.”

“I don’t think I’d look right in a suit like that,” Finn says. “Too… I dunno. Something.”

“No, you’re a little more modern,” Kurt agrees.

“That’s Finn. Picture of modern modernity.” Puck blinks. “That didn’t make any sense.”

Finn shrugs and eats his doughnuts. “So, uh,” he says, then stops. 

“What is it?” Kurt asks after a moment, which means Puck’s not imagining the look on Finn’s face – like he has something to say but isn’t sure how to say it or maybe if he even should. 

“Yeah. So, uh. So, if my mom says anything about the blood drive,” Finn says, poking at his ice cream with his last bite of doughnut. “I told her I answered the questions wrong.”

“Ah, yes,” Kurt nods. “Well. Not entirely untrue.”

“Yeah, well, she and Burt both seemed to think it meant that, you know,” Finn shrugs. “I didn’t understand them or something. So, if anybody says anything about me being too dumb to donate blood, it’s ok if you agree with them, is all.”

Kurt rolls his eyes a little. “We’re not going to agree with them, Finn. Anyway, apart from someone with medical training, the huge burn on your hand probably seems like a legitimate reason.”

“I’m just not a really good liar, I guess,” Finn says, sighing. 

“Mmm, well, just let people assume.” Kurt shrugs. “So.”

“You’re really bad at transitions sometimes, blue eyes.”

“I have to have a few flaws.”

Puck snorts. “At least you won’t be accused of being too humble.”

“Aw, Kurt’s humble. Sometimes.” Finn grins at Kurt. “Well, he’s Hummel and that’s only a few letters of difference, right?”

Puck laughs and Kurt mock–glowers at both of them. “Fine. I just won’t tell you where I got accepted, then,” he sniffs at Finn. 

“You _heard!_ ” Finn says, his grin threatening to hit epic proportions. “From where?”

“Marymount,” Kurt says smugly. “Both concentrations and the minor.”

“That’s fantastic, dude! So great!” Finn leans across the table, ignoring the ice cream, to grab Kurt into a big hug. “I knew you’d get in, though. Of course they want you. They’d be stupid if they didn’t.”

“Yes, well.” Kurt shrugs a little. “There’s still financial aid and scholarships and all of _that_ to hear about, but someone suggested I should just enjoy it for a few hours at least.” He pokes Puck in the side and grins. “Also? You have ice cream on your shirt now.”

Finn looks down at his shirt. “Oh, yeah, I guess I do. Puck’s right, though. That’s why he’s the smart one.” Finn pulls his shirt up towards his mouth and licks the blob of ice cream off of it. “Fixed it.”

“I am the smart one,” Puck agrees.

“Wait, what am I?” Kurt asks.

“Pretty one,” Finn answers automatically. 

“Oh.” Kurt pauses, considering, then shrugs. “All right.”

“Finn’s just around for the heavy lifting.”

“Am I _ever_ going to live that one down?”

“Probably not,” Finn says. “Even if it’s true.”

Kurt sighs. “All right. So be it. I really should have said to get things down from the tallest shelves, maybe.”

“Hope all your shelves in New York are _really_ low, is all I’m saying,” Finn says. 

“We’re just gonna wait until you come visit.” Puck smirks. “We’ll be all, fuck, wanted to wear that. Wanted to eat that. Shit, have to wait for Finn.”

“Too bad for you. That’s what you get for going to New York. I’m taking my tall and I’m going to Wisconsin.”

“Yeah, you should just drop my money off for me directly,” Puck shakes his head. “Those American Girl things, their offices are near Madison. Convenient of them.” He frowns. “Conspiracy, more like.”

“Find out if they do a tour and ship Hannah up to me. I’d totally take her on that,” Finn says. “She’s always liked me best anyway.”

“Because she doesn’t live with you,” Kurt retorts. 

“Hey, you live with me and _you_ like me ok,” Finn says. He frowns. “Fine, I’ll take Hannah to the American Girl store and just keep her. We’ll be the unappreciated younger siblings together, with our… American Girl things.”

“They’ll arrest us, K. If we let those two team up.”

“You’re right.” Kurt laughs. “Don’t do it, Finn! We can’t combat the mastermind that is the two of you together!”

“Yeah, yeah, _now_ you’re trying to be all flattering. I see how it is. Me and Hannah against the world.”

“Again, no combating that one.”

“I might just marry her when she turns eighteen. It’ll protect her from Stevie and she can, like, have her own room and stuff,” Finn says. “It’ll be a platonic marriage or whatever.”

“Aromantic marriage.” Kurt shrugs and looks at Puck. “There you go. Finn would be a better brother–in–law than Sam.”

“Then we’ll all be like _double–brothers_!” Finn looks pretty pleased about his plan. “We can still spend all the holidays together.”

“I’ll just let Hannah know that I’ve taken care of the entire issue, no need for her to date or anything,” Puck nods. “I’m sure she’ll be just fine with that.”

“If she complains, tell your mom to put in _Fiddler_ again.”

“I’ll just tell her that dating is overrated. She doesn’t really want to do that shit, anyway,” Finn says. “I won’t bother her or anything, but she won’t have to be all alone. It’s the perfect set-up.”

“Hey, you sold me.” Puck laughs. “It was gonna be hard to threaten her boyfriends long-distance, this way that’s not a problem.”

“Yeah, I got this covered, dude. Grandkids are gonna totally be on you guys, though, ’cause. You know.” Finn grimaces. “It’s still _Hannah_. Maybe, like, a test tube baby or something.”

“We’ll get right on that. Impregnating each other.” Kurt shakes his head. “At least we’d be rich when we sold the story to the _Enquirer_.”

“Ew. That’s just _wrong_. Can’t you just get a baby on eBay or something? Craigslist?” Finn shudders. “I don’t even wanna think about how that would work. Just, seriously. We’ll never speak of this again.”

“‘That I bought on eBay’,” Puck sings, laughing. 

“Exactly.” Kurt nods. “We should head back. I probably should actually let Dad know, come to think of it.”

“Yeah, he might be interested, K.”

“That’s a good idea. Heading home it is, then,” Finn says, gathering up their trash and depositing it in the trash can. 

 

Kurt does shut the bedroom door as soon as they reach it after he talks to Burt, and despite the long day, it’s awhile before the lights are completely out and Kurt relaxes in Puck’s arms, drifting to sleep. Puck presses his lips to Kurt’s forehead before closing his own eyes. 

Carole fixes another huge breakfast the next morning, and Finn rides with them to school, which means Puck and Finn are walking together to history when there’s a loud clatter behind them. They turn around, and it’s not hard to figure out what’s going on. Brittany is kneeling on the floor in a pile of spilled books and papers, while a group of guys Puck recognizes as baseball players, mostly juniors, swagger away laughing. 

“Hey. Hey!” Finn yells after them. “Britt, are you ok? Hey! I’m talking to you guys!” Finn sprints down the hall after them, and Puck can see him cornering one of the stragglers, gesturing back at Brittany and ahead at the other baseball players. 

Puck backtracks to where Brittany is and squats down. “Where’d you hit?” He can hear the occasional yell from down the hall, definitely Finn’s voice. 

“I’m okay. I just have to pick up all my things,” Brittany says. “My history book went over that way somewhere.” 

“Oh, okay,” Puck exhales, a little relieved, because he knew something hit the locker, and he didn’t really want to be the one to text Santana and tell her Brittany was hurt. He scans the hall, looking for the book, and spots it on the other side. “There it is. I’ll get it. You sure you’re not hurt?”

“My heart hurts,” Brittany says. “Why did they do that? I don’t understand. All I said to them was that I was with Santana and thank you, but no thank you, I didn’t want to party with all of them.”

Puck closes his eyes briefly and swallows. It takes pretty much every ounce of self-control he’s learned to possess not to run down the hall and help Finn out with the yelling, and maybe more than yelling. “Come on,” Puck says gently. “Let’s go tell Mrs. Vey we’ll be late to class, and go tell Coach Beiste about this, okay?”

“Okay. Will we wait for Finn? He might get lost trying to find us.”

“I’ll text him.” Puck pulls out his phone and sends a quick text to Finn. 

_Britt to Beiste report it meet there_

Finn doesn’t text back, but he catches up with them before they actually make it to Beiste’s office, clutching a scribbled–on piece of notebook paper. “Names,” Finn says, holding up the paper. 

“Good,” Puck says fiercely. They knock on Beiste’s doorframe, and the smile on her face slowly fades. 

“What’s going on?” she finally asks. 

“Group of baseball players were harassing Brittany,” Finn says. “They knocked her books all over the floor, but first they, uh. They said some pretty awful stuff to her. I got their names, all of ’em, I think.” He puts the paper on Beiste’s desk.

“We were just ahead of her in the hall,” Puck adds, steering Brittany into the chair. “At first I thought Britt hit the locker, but luckily it was just her textbook.” He frowns. “You should tell Coach what they said, Britt.”

Brittany nods. “They told me I should party with them. I told them I was with Santana, but then they said they could fix me, and I should party with them, and then I wouldn’t have that little problem any more. I said Santana’s not a problem, I love her, but they didn’t believe me, I don’t think.”

Beiste looks utterly horrified, but she manages to dig in her desk for some kind of form and a pen, writing a bunch of stuff down and taking Finn’s paper with names. “When you say party…?”

“Yeah,” Puck nods. “Implication if not explicit.”

“I think they meant a naked party,” Brittany says. “I asked who else was invited, though, and they said just them and me, so maybe that’s not what they mean.”

“Coach?” Puck asks after a moment. “If you can give that list back to Finn after you copy it? Just in case Brittany needs to file charges with the actual police or anything. You understand.”

Beiste looks carefully at Puck and then over at Finn. Whatever she sees, she nods slowly. “Yeah. Good idea. Hudson, I’ll slip this back into your locker later.”

“Ok, Coach, thanks,” Finn says. “What’s gonna happen, do you think? I mean, they can’t just _not_ do something. I heard what that guy, Palmer, said they were saying about her.” He glances over at Brittany, then looks at Puck. “I can tell you that part later.”

“Do you need Brittany for anything else?” Puck asks, and Beiste shakes her head. “Yeah, we’ll head back to class.” Puck puts a hand on Brittany’s elbow and leads her from the room. “You want to go to class or do you want me to get ’Tana?”

“We should go to class. I don’t want to upset her,” Brittany says. “She might be sad they didn’t want her at the party.”

“Okay.” Puck sighs as they walk back to class, and Mrs. Vey just nods as the two of them take their seats. Sam swivels in his chair, concern on his face. 

“Everything okay?” he whispers.

“Nah,” Puck answers candidly. “But no one’s physically harmed.”

“Okay.” Sam looks confused, then glances again at Brittany. “That’s good, I guess.”

“Yeah. Maybe some people _should_ be.”

Finn doesn’t come back to class until about ten minutes before the end. He holds up a fist to Puck for a bump before sliding into his seat. When the bell rings, Finn looks over at Sam and asks, “Would you walk Brittany to her next class, man?”

“Yeah, sure,” Sam nods immediately, though he still looks confused. 

“Hey, Britt, why don’t you walk with Sam and have him do his new impression for you,” Finn says to Brittany. “I think it’s really good, but I can’t figure out who he’s supposed to be. You can tell me later if you know.”

“Yeah, I have him stumped,” Sam picks up quickly. 

“Oh! I know that one!” Brittany says, excitedly. “George Washington!”

“Right. Well, there’s a second one,” Sam says, walking towards the door with Brittany. “It’s even better.”

Puck turns to look at Finn and raises an eyebrow. “How many of them were there?”

Finn narrows his eyes before he answers. “Eight. _Eight_ of them.”

“Fuck!” Puck shakes his head. “Are Coach’s hands tied, or?”

“No, she says she’ll probably have better luck getting them under the sexual harassment policy, though, even though it was definitely, you know, because of her and Santana.” Finn looks a little queasy, actually. “That Palmer kid told me what they were saying.”

“We’re gonna have to tell Santana. Brittany won’t want her to worry.”

“Maybe Santana oughta worry,” Finn says. “Seriously, I just don’t even know what we’d say to her.”

“No, she should,” Puck agrees. “Fuck. She needs to know.”

“I can tell her. I’m the one who had to hear it the first time, so.”

Puck sighs. “What did they say? I mean, Brittany had the gist of it, but.”

“That they thought Britt was just confused and maybe enough dicks would help her figure it out again.” Finn’s mouth is set in a small, tight line. 

Puck punches one of the lockers they’re walking past and scowls. “Hate this fucking town, dude.”

“What’s the countdown again?” Finn asks. “I mean, it’s not the same numbers as for me, but hell, any numbers that are in the process of getting smaller sound good right about now.”

“Sixty-five until graduation.”

“So, like a hundred something until Madison. Yeah, I’ll take it.”

“I hear you.”

 

By the time the bell rings for fourth period, it looks like most of the club has heard, which is some impressive gossip–spreading, even if ‘gossip’ sounds a little trivial. Mercedes, Quinn, and Artie are the only ones that that appear not to have heard. Even Schue is frowning when he walks into the room, and he crosses to stand in front of Brittany and Santana.

“You all right, Brittany?”

“I’m fine. My book is broken, though. Everybody should start asking my book instead.”

“Books can be replaced,” Schue says gently. 

“We got it, Mr. Schue,” Santana says with a nod. “But. Thanks,” she says very quietly. 

Schue nods and turns to walk back to the front of the room, and the whole exchange seems to further mystify the three of them still in the dark. 

“Mr. Schue,” Artie says. “What happened?”

“Assholes went after Brittany,” Puck responds before Schue can even open his mouth. “Talking shit, knocking her books out of her hands.”

“What kind of… what did they say?” Artie asks. 

“Bad stuff,” Finn says. “They wanted Britt to, uh, _party_ with them. The _eight_ of them.”

“Oh, hell no,” Mercedes says, shaking her head. “This is out of hand.”

“Coach Beiste is going to try using the sexual harassment policies to pursue it,” Finn says. “I guess it won’t get as far if it’s ‘just’ bullying.”

“Yeah, it’s just the queers,” Santana bites out. She turns and glares at Mercedes and Quinn. “You two had best be there next month.”

Quinn nods. “Of course.” Mercedes just nods silently, not really looking at anyone. 

“We should start our performances,” Schue says after some silence. “Any volunteers to go first?”

“Sure,” Tina nods. “I’m going to do ‘Black Balloon’.” When she finishes, Rachel goes forward before Schue can even speak. 

“I had difficulty selecting a song, and ultimately decided to go with a true classic!” she announces, and Puck isn’t sure what he’s expecting, but he knows it wasn’t ‘Red Rubber Ball’, which at least is amusing to watch Rachel sing. 

“That does fit the parameters of the assignment,” Schue concedes. “Nice effort on something not usually part of your range.”

“Thank you!”

When Schue and Rachel are done talking, Quinn volunteers, turning in a sedate performance of “Purple Rain,” accompanied by Brad on the piano.

Schue nods and says something about her performance, then looks at Mercedes, who apparently also had difficulty finding a song, because she does Jay-Z’s ‘Glory’. Schue nods again and then fumbles with some papers on the piano. 

“All right, so.” He scans the room and makes a few notes. “We are going to officially have 100% participation in the blood drive, guys!” 

“Can’t get better than that!” Sam pauses. “Right?”

There’s some scattered laughter, and Sam looks sheepish for about half a second before he joins the laughter, and Schue shoots him a grateful look. “Right! Assuming something doesn’t change, we should be enjoying dinner and a movie on the school within a week or so.”

While everyone’s talking about the amusement factor of Figgins paying for them to go to dinner at Breadstix, not to mention a full–price movie ticket for everyone, Kurt walks up to his square on the bulletin board and uses one of the markers to write out ‘Marymount Manhattan’ on it before capping the marker and walking back to his seat. 

“Kurt!” Tina cries after a moment. “You heard!”

“I did,” Kurt answers as he sits down. 

“That’s awesome!” Tina flings her arms around him briefly. 

“What?” Rachel looks up, then at Kurt, then at the bulletin board, before looking back at Kurt. “Oh!” She squeals and then darts over to Kurt. “You got in! This is fantastic! You must be so excited!”

“When did they post it?” Mike asks.

Kurt smirks. “Yesterday afternoon around two.”

“You _knew_ during rehearsal yesterday and didn’t tell us!” Rachel looks affronted. 

“I had a few people to tell that took precedence.” Kurt shrugs. 

Rachel nods and drops that line of discussion. “That’s almost everyone, then! Just you and I left, Noah.”

Puck nods, grimacing. “Nothing like taking it down to the wire.”

 

Before they even leave Kurt’s the next morning, Puck has Mannes’ site pulled up on his phone, refreshing it periodically as they make the drive to Dayton for the second time in two days. “This is cruel,” he sighs. 

“No, it is,” Kurt agrees. “At least the center’s a bit of a distraction?”

“Yeah, a little,” Puck concedes. “And then I stop and think. I mean, a year ago, I shocked the hell out of _myself_ talking to my mom about going to college. And now I’m waiting to hear from a place that only lets in a third of the people that apply.” He shakes his head ruefully. “Life’s a funny thing.”

“Yes. Yes, it is.” Kurt grins. “I’ve grown sort of fond of the twists and turns, though.”

Puck laughs. “Yeah, me too.”

April seems to have been waiting for them, because they aren’t five feet into the center before she appears, attaching herself to Puck’s arm. “So, the one you don’t like? Came back last week,” she announces with preamble. 

“Brown?” Kurt shrugs. “Unsurprising, somehow. Looking for a hook up?”

April snorts. “Oh, yeah. He was here maybe fifteen minutes before he left again, with Austin in tow.”

“Austin, Austin…” Kurt muses. “Blond kid with the skateboard?”

“Yeah, that’s the one,” April nods. 

“Guess Brown didn’t get to give blood either.” Puck laughs. “That poor woman.”

“Give blood?”

“We had one of those school blood drives this week,” Kurt explains. “All of us going in and saying we were willing to give blood but, oops. Men who have sex with men.”

April laughs. “Oh, that’s priceless. Why go in at all, though?”

“To make a point,” Kurt answers easily. “Here we are, healthy and willing to donate much–needed blood, but because of outdated regulations, she was forced to turn us away with no more than a ‘thank you for your willingness’ and a sticker that says ‘I Tried’.”

“Brown strikes me as the type to wimp out, though,” Puck muses. “Cry like a baby at the sight of the needle.” He laughs. “He’ll have fun getting tested regularly.”

“Us lesbians are the picture of health. No one turns me away from giving blood.” April tosses her head. “So what’s new, pussycats?”

“Pretty sure that was just _totally_ wrong,” Puck laughs. “And K finally heard from Marymount.”

“Good news?”

“Good news,” Kurt nods with a smile. 

“What about you, Puckerman?”

Puck holds his phone up with a grimace. “They still have about seven hours before they said they’d be posted.”

“Ouch,” April says sympathetically.

“Yep.” 

Random conversation with April and some of the others there keeps Puck distracted until his phone starts chiming at him. “I think someone wants your attention,” Kurt says, amused, after the fifth chime in a minute.

“You think?” Puck laughs and sits up a little to pull out his phone, then slumps back against Kurt. “Allison.” He purses his lips and doesn’t read the texts, just pulls up the Mannes page and reloads it again. “Here goes nothing.”

Kurt wraps one arm around him and rests his head on Puck’s shoulder while Puck enters his password yet again, then clicks and scrolls through the various pages. Puck freezes when he finally reaches the right part, then screws his eyes shut tightly. “Baby?” Kurt whispers softly. Puck just tilts the screen towards Kurt, who stiffens momentarily and then relaxes. “I knew it,” Kurt says triumphantly. “I knew it. You did it, baby. You did it.”

“I can’t fucking believe it.” Puck straightens. “Just. _Fuck_. I can’t believe it.” His phone chimes again and he laughs. “That girl is persistent.”

Kurt nudges his side. “Put her out of her misery, and then let’s go celebrate.”

“Mmm, the kind of celebration that involves a hotel room?” Puck grins. 

“Whatever kind of celebration you want,” Kurt answers, laughing and standing as Puck sends a short response to Allison. 

“Oh, hi, guys!” Casey calls out as they’re walking down the hall, and they turn in place to see Casey and Karofsky coming from the other direction. Karofsky inclines his head in greeting. 

“Casey, David,” Kurt nods, a slight smile still on his face. 

“Hey, guys,” Puck greets them. 

“Oh, Puck, you look really happy!” Casey says. “Did you have a nice time today?”

Puck blinks, because he wasn’t really aware of looking anything. “Oh. Uh, yeah. Good news.”

“That’s great! Must be _really_ good news.” Casey grins at Puck. “You guys are going now?”

“Yes,” Kurt answers for them, squeezing Puck’s hand slightly. “Things to do, plans to make…” He grins himself and exchanges a glance with Puck. 

“Well, have fun with your things and plans! We’re gonna go find a place to sit where poor David doesn’t have to sit too close to me,” Casey says.

“He smells like coffee,” Karofsky says dryly. 

Puck laughs. “Told you.”

“I changed my clothes and everything. My clothes smell just _fine_!”

“I never have had to worry about the smell getting in my hair.”

“Because you don’t have hair!” Casey exclaims. “Maybe I should shave my head, huh, David? Then I won’t smell like coffee and you can still sit by me when we go places.”

“It’s a little cold in the winter, though,” Puck offers. “I’m pretty sure you don’t have a curl problem, either.” He grimaces slightly and Kurt runs his free hand over his head. 

“One day you’re going to let me see those,” Kurt whispers so that the other two can’t hear him. 

“We’re going in now. Really, we really are! You should say hi to the car! It’s in the parking lot,” Casey says, taking David by the hand and pulling him along after him. “Bye! Good luck with your plans!”

“Thanks,” Kurt calls after them, and then he and Puck turn back towards the door. “But we don’t need the luck now,” Kurt continues, more quietly. “Just the plans.”


	4. Point A, Point B

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Where they go and how they get there.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [Playlist track for "Point A, Point B"](http://www.youtube.com/playlist?list=PL852963847876D13D)
> 
> (if you keep compiling these, eventually you get the Rambling Wrecks soundtrack)

Casey wakes up with David’s arm draped across him again. He’s sort of squished, but it’s not entirely bad, really, even if David’s arm does weigh almost as much as Casey does. Casey spends a few minutes deciding if it’s one of those mornings where he tries to wiggle out from under David’s arm without waking him up, so they can just pretend David’s not a secret sleep–snuggler or anything like that, or if he’s just going to keep lying there for a while being all warm and snuggled and squished. Option A is more dignified, but option B is just way better.

He decides he’ll count to three hundred in his head and if David’s not awake by then, Casey will see about trying to disentangle himself. David’s arm is still dead weight by three hundred, so Casey cheats and tacks on an extra fifty–count before finally trying to roll out from underneath. Just rolling doesn’t do the trick, though, so Casey carefully lifts David’s arm, _then_ rolls out from under it, and then sets it back down on the bed. David rolls a little bit forward onto his stomach, but stays asleep. David’s sort of like a hibernating bear like that. 

Casey goes and takes his shower, and when he comes back, David’s in Paul’s doorway, talking to Paul. “Yeah, grabbing breakfast on the way sounds good,” David says, apparently agreeing to a suggestion of Paul’s. He turns and grins at Casey. “Morning, Case.”

“Good morning, David,” Casey says. “Traveling breakfast today?”

“If you can catch it, you can eat it,” David nods solemnly. “Can’t count the Oreos last night as breakfast.”

“It was past midnight,” Casey says. “That means we ate them today and that makes them breakfast. Besides, there was _milk_. That makes it breakfast.”

“You hadn’t slept yet. Late night snack.” David shrugs with the air of someone utterly convinced he’s in the right. “But if you’d rather call our McGriddles something along the lines of ‘second breakfast’, I’m not going to stop you.”

“Hmm. Will there be coffee? It can be another breakfast if there’s coffee.”

“There will definitely be coffee!” Paul calls from inside his room. 

“Well, okay, it can be second breakfast,” Casey concedes. “But only _one_ of them and I’m not eating hashbrowns this time.” He tries and fails to stop himself from grinning. “Maybe a bite of _your_ hashbrown, though.”

“Thief,” David says halfheartedly, then pushes off the doorframe. “Okay, gotta get dressed for church, Dad.”

“Yes,” Paul’s voice responds. “Reverend Hunter frowns upon attendance while naked.”

Casey grimaces and David wrinkles his nose at Casey, then laughs, before both of them turn to their own rooms to get dressed for church. 

 

Dave stops for half a second as he climbs out of his truck and looks towards the front of the school. There’s a clump of people off to the side, and after a glance, he realizes it’s a mix of kids who have just one thing in common: PFLAG meetings. He catches Casey’s eyes, nods towards them, and starts walking in that direction, Casey following closely behind him.

“Everyone’s had time to read the news or hear it by now, I guess,” Dave comments as they’re halfway across the parking lot. 

“I don’t see pitchforks, at least,” Casey says. “So that’s good. Or I guess they could be inside, and that would be bad.”

“I think Coach Sylvester would confiscate them and make up a new rule on the spot. 'The only person allowed to possess a pitchfork on McKinley property is me, Sue Sylvester!'”

“Oh, that would be super scary!” Casey says, though he sounds more thrilled than scared by the idea.

“It really would be,” Dave has to agree. He nods at the others as they approach, then greets Santana and Brittany. “Hey, girls.”

“Dave. Casey.” Santana nods. “Spontaneous pride moment – I can mark it off my bucket list now,” she says dryly.

“I should make one of those lists,” Casey says. “Hi Brittany! Do you think Coach Sylvester has a pitchfork?”

“I think she might,” Brittany says. “I haven’t seen inside her closet, though. That’s where I would keep a pitchfork if I had one. It’s where I keep my bucket, too. I don’t have a list any more, though. My cat ate it.”

“Oh. That’s too bad,” Casey says, patting Brittany on the arm. 

“She does,” Santana says, sounding bored. “She owned a bull for a few weeks freshman year, until she got all these notices about violating zoning ordinances. She sold it to a butcher and ate it for a year.”

“That is _so cool_.” Casey’s eyes are wide. Dave shakes his head, disbelieving. Where does Santana come up with these stories? 

Before he can ask, though, they all start moving, heading indoors as a clump. They don’t get far before everyone disperses, Santana walking alongside Kurt in one direction as Brittany scurries… somewhere. Dave can’t be sure. He walks alongside Casey towards Casey’s locker, where Rick, Brown, and Alicia are all leaning against nearby lockers. 

“Shep. Cherry.” Miles nods his head at them. 

“Good morning,” Alicia says brightly. “Dave, Casey, how are you? My brother here was attempting to entertain us, so it’s a good thing you’ve arrived.”

“I am _damn_ entertaining!” Miles protests, and Casey giggles at him. Rick looks a little amused, then looks at Alicia and tries to look less amused. Dave shakes his head. 

“Sad day for the two of you,” Dave agrees. “You still treating the lady right, Rick?”

“Yessir, you bet,” Rick says, nodding vigorously. “Wouldn’t do it any other way.”

“He’s a perfect gentleman,” Alicia agrees, threading her fingers through Rick’s and then smiling up at him. “It was so good of my brother to introduce us.”

“I can always take it back,” Miles says, scowling a little. “He puts one toe out of line, and it’ll be like I never introduced you to him at all.”

Dave laughs. “His job is to put a foot out of line, Brown.” He shakes his head. “You still hoping Coach will make you captain? Hope not.”

“If Brown disappears me, I guess Casey’ll have to learn how to kick after all,” Rick says. 

“I can kick pretty hard,” Casey nods. 

“Let’s hope none of us find out firsthand,” Alicia laughs as the bell rings. “Walk me to class, Daniel?”

Rick and Alicia head down the hall, with Miles following about ten feet behind them, glaring at the back of Rick’s head. Dave shakes his head. “Sometimes I think Brown’s pretty smart, but sometimes I’m not so sure.” 

 

“Your usual meal? You know, you might like one of their sandwiches.”

“Usual is good,” Casey says. “What’s the flavor?”

“Caramel Fudge Cookie Dough.”

“Oh, I want _that_. I want that _twice_!” Casey grins at David, who laughs. “Maybe no ButterBurger and two custards instead?”

“Funny, I don’t think that’s a meal option,” David responds, rolling down his window and placing the order quickly. “Oh, darn. And now I’ve ordered.”

“Daaaaavid!” Casey flings himself back against the seat and dies dramatically. “I needed _two_ custards. This is awful! I can’t live without two custards!”

“I know custard feels like serious business,” David says solemnly. “But you can have a lifestyle that includes custard while still taking this important new drug I’m apparently advertising.”

“Does it have side effects?” Casey asks, from where he’s still sprawled against the seat. 

“Several. It makes you consume cheese curds, for starters.”

“Hmm. Anything else?” Casey sits back up. “Anything really gruesome? Or interesting?”

“Some participants in a study found an increased desire to splatter themselves with Heinz, in an attempt to mimic blood patterns.” David shrugs. “It’s a real head–scratcher.”

Casey pretends to think about it for a moment. “I don’t know. That sounds pretty serious. Maybe I should skip your new drug and just eat my custard _and_ your custard.”

“Hey!” David protests. “Anyway, I ordered vanilla, so.”

“That’s so sad, David,” Casey says, shaking his head. “Very, very sad. I’m so sorry about your custard.”

“I’ll survive,” David says, paying the worker and taking their food, handing over the custard first. “Custard first since we’re driving through. Everything okay, by the way?”

“No, Dr. Naser says I need to be heavily medicated, because I’m a menace to society,” Casey says, accepting his custard. “She suggested locking me up some place like Arkham Asylum for the Criminally Insane, but then we both remembered that was fictional, so she had to let me go.”

“At least it wasn’t St. Brutus’?” David says philosophically. “Shipping you off to England would seem a little extreme.”

“England might be nice. You can come with me. I bet Dr. Naser will agree to call you crazy, too, if you want,” Casey says. “Even if you’re a ‘nice young man’.”

David laughs. “I have her fooled, I guess. Same time next week?”

“Oh, hush. You’re very nice. Well, I think you’re nice. You don’t have to think you’re nice if you don’t want to,” Casey says. “You do have to let me have a bite of your sandwich, though. Dr. Naser said so, right after she said same time next week.”

“Sure she did,” David pretends to grumble, but he holds out his melt for Casey to take a bite. “If I ask her next week, she’ll back you up?”

“She’s not allowed to tell you that kind of stuff, David. It’s doctor–patient confidentiality. You just have to trust me. Also, she said next week, you have to get chocolate custard, because vanilla is boring.”

“I’ll take my chances with the custard–policing Dr. Naser.”

“You should try something more exciting. Exciting is good!” Casey insists. 

“I like what I like,” David shrugs. “What’s wrong with that?”

 

“And did you _see_ Foots?” Miles continues bitching. “He was all over her, and Alicia sitting there just _smirking_ about it. I swear I am telling my Ma as soon as we get home. Gonna have her shipped off to some kind of convent boarding nun school or something.”

“Sure,” Dave snorts, shaking his head. “Nothing at all to do with you getting your pretty panties in a wad ’cause Rick sat with the other Brown.”

Casey almost doubles over in giggles. “Oh, Miles! Your panties!” He waves his hand in front of his face like he’s trying to get air. 

“Cherry, breathe before I have to thump you,” Miles says, looking put out. “Nothing’s in a wad. I just think they’re getting awfully cozy, awfully fast, is all. Not sure it’s all that gentlemanly of him.”

“Damn shame when a man dares to hold a woman’s hand.” Dave laughs. “I mean, you’d better get a chastity glove, Brown. Stat.”

“Chastity _glove_!” Casey squeaks, still laughing too hard to get a deep breath. “Oh, no, Miles! Poor Alicia and her gloves!”

“Seriously, Cherry, you’re gonna choke yourself to death or something,” Miles says, half–frowning. “It’s not that funny, you know. This is serious stuff right here. We’re talking about my sister.”

“Yes, your clearly defenseless sister. I thought she was a Brown?”

Miles looks affronted. “Well, of course she’s a Brown. I just don’t trust his motives, is all.”

Casey finally seems to be calming himself down. He wipes at his eyes a little, and looks at Dave. “Maybe Miles doesn’t think a boy and a girl should hold hands in a PFLAG meeting,” Casey suggests, doing a pretty decent job of keeping a straight face. 

“Oh, man.” Dave sighs. “He’s heterophobic.” He shrugs. “Nothing to be done about that, I guess.”

“Maybe we could see if Kurt will make the straight people have their own meetings, so Miles doesn’t have to see them,” Casey says, and Miles rolls his eyes. 

“I like straight people just fine. I just don’t like them macking on my sister in front of me, is what I don’t like,” Miles says, crossing his arms over his chest. 

“They say it’s hard to watch relatives grow up,” Dave offers, grinning. “And, oh, darn, there _is_ the bell. Maybe if you hurry you can spy on them for two minutes.”

“You know what, Shep?” Miles says, pointing at Dave. “You’re kind of a dick. Cherry, you should flee before his bad influence rubs off on you more than it already has.”

 

“If I fall, will it hurt?” Casey asks David, not for the first time, but just because some additional reassurance isn’t the worst thing ever. 

“Nah. Stings your butt for about thirty seconds, but then you can’t tell you even fell.” David shrugs and flips on his blinker to turn into Rinky Dinks. 

“I don’t know about that,” Casey says. David’s been acting weird ever since dinner, and Casey worries that maybe skating is either a lot harder than David’s letting on or that maybe Rick or Miles is a really good skater, and David’s worried they’re both going to be embarrassed. “Maybe if I fall, I’ll just try to land on you.”

David shakes his head, grinning. “That’s an interesting approach.” For some reason, David doesn’t park in the closest spot, driving almost to the other end of the building. 

“Oh, hey! Look at that car!” Casey points at the bright yellow car parked towards the front as they pass it. “Looks like Bumblebee.”

“Uh, yeah,” David agrees, barely glancing over at it. “I guess it does. Ready?”

“The answer probably has to be ‘yes’ doesn’t it?” Casey says. “Can I say ‘no’ and instead of skating, we just see if Rick and Miles want to go to Pat’s and eat ice cream?”

“Hmm. Nope,” David answers after a moment, locking the truck as the doors shut. “Consider it for your bucket list. See, you’ve already completed one thing.”

“I wasn’t going to put breaking my butt on my bucket list, David,” Casey says. “It’s gonna have things like ‘go to Disney World and ride every single ride twice’ and ‘learn fire–swallowing’ on it.”

“Fire swallowing,” David repeats as they get near the doors. “Well, that’s a thought.”

“Better than skating. I’m not sure the physics behind roller skates is very sound,” Casey says. 

“Huh?” David looks confused. “They’re wheels. That’s pretty sound.”

“They’re just, they’re awfully _small_ , though, aren’t they? And if I have to stop quickly, I think I might flip forward,” Casey says, as they walk inside.

“They’re bigger than rollerblades?” David says, sounding a little confused. 

“But where do the skates _come_ from?”

 

“This is so amazing. This is just _so_ amazing,” Casey keeps repeating, as David backs the yellow car, _Casey’s_ yellow car, out of the parking spot. “I still can’t believe it.”

David laughs. “Well, you’ll probably believe it more once you learn how to shift gears and take her out yourself.”

Casey shakes his head. “No, probably still not then. It’s a _car_ , David. People don’t just, they don’t just _give people cars_.” Really, the high point of the evening for Casey was managing not to cry like a great big baby in front of everybody over the absolutely overwhelming amazingness of this car. 

“Well, to be honest, I saw a picture of what it started out looking like,” David admits. “They did a great job, but I think she’s probably going to have more practical value to you than actual value.”

“No, she’s the most amazing car _ever_ ,” Casey says. “And she’s _yellow_! How did they know? They’re mind-readers or something. I can’t believe they fixed it up themselves! I didn’t know Kurt could do that! How did they know about the yellow?” Casey only stops talking when he runs out of breath, then he takes another breath. “Oh. _You_ told them about the yellow!”

“I did,” David admits. “I don’t really know how they coordinated everything, though. And yeah, apparently Kurt’s, I don’t know, certified or something maybe? That’s where he works, at his dad’s shop.”

“That’s so cool,” Casey says. “And weird. And cool.”

“Yeah, I wouldn’t know where to start!” David admits. “And you should look through all of that you almost sat on. Paperwork, gas cards, who knows what else.”

None of this is helpful for Casey’s goal of not crying, really, so maybe he’ll look through all of that a little later. A first car and a first real birthday party, along with a first time skating and singing karaoke and a lot of other stuff. It was an exciting night. Which reminds him…

“So, oh, you aren’t gonna believe what I saw at Rinky Dinks!”

“Besides all the party stuff, and Berry making a fool out of herself?”

“Yes, besides that. Um.” Casey starts to giggle. He can’t even help it. “Um, I saw, um.”

When they stop at a stop sign, David looks over at him quizzically. “What, Case?”

“So, when I was going to find the bathroom, um.” Casey starts giggling again. “In the hallway.”

“In the hallway what?” David still doesn’t seem to understand. 

“Puck and Kurt.” Now Casey can feel his cheeks burning. “They were. Um. You know.”

“In the hallway?” David repeats, now sounding incredulous. “Surely you just thought, I mean. It was darker in the hallway.”

“Nooo. Definitely saw it.” Casey nods his head. “In the hallway.” He pauses for dramatic effect. “On _roller skates_ , David.”

David turns an interesting shade of purplish–red and his eyes get really wide. “Anyone could have seen them!” he finally blurts out. 

“I _know_!” Casey says. “And anyone was _me_! I just skated back in the other direction, ’cause, you know. Um. I don’t think you’re supposed to make conversation or anything.”

“No,” David agrees. “I don’t think you are.”

“I don’t know how they didn’t just, you know, _bloop_! Fall right over. Except I ran into them later, when they were leaving. Actually ran into them, ran into them. Puck said the trick is to get up on your toes,” Casey explains. There’s a long pause where David doesn’t say anything, and Casey realizes exactly what it just sounded like he just said. “To make the brakes work, I mean! You have to stand on your toes! To make the brakes work!”

“Well,” David says finally, “It does sound like Puck would know.”

“Well, he wasn’t rolling anywhere,” Casey says. “I mean, I guess the wall would have stopped it, though.”

“The wall?” David’s doing a lot of echoing during this conversation. “The— Oh. _Ohh_.” Now he looks even more embarrassed than before. “I… Okay.”

“I guess they really like roller skating,” Casey says. “Or birthday parties.”

“I think I’m going to do my best not to consider that.”

“At least everybody had a good time at the party, right?” Casey says. “Just. Um. Some people more than other people.”

 

Dave generally worries about Casey burning off all the calories he’s consumed in various states of excitement, but as they wait at the DMV place on Saturday, he wonders if maybe they should stop and get a milkshake. And some ice cream. And more cake. 

“Just a few more numbers, Case.”

“What if I have to drive backward a lot? I don’t think we practiced that enough? If I have to drive backward I’m going to just run over everything!” Casey’s practically vibrating in his seat. 

“You’re going to be on the road most of the time. They won’t want you going backwards on the road,” Dave points out. “You’re ready for this.”

“At least I’m really good at parallel parking?” Casey says, looking unsure if he really is or not. “We practiced that a lot. A _lot_. I could parallel park a dinosaur.” He bounces his legs in place. “Well, a small dinosaur.”

“If _Jurassic Park_ turns out to be applicable in real life, we’ll know who to call,” Paul suddenly says, looking up briefly from his book. “Just please, no velociraptors.”

“I hope there’s no velociraptors,” Casey says. “Pretty sure that would be a failure to maintain lane thing!”

“Number fifty-seven. Number fifty-seven, please proceed to the testing station. Number fifty-seven,” the loudspeaker crackles. 

Casey’s eyes widen comically. “Oh. Oh! That’s me!”

“Go on,” Dave laughs. 

“Okay! Ohhhmigosh!” Casey goes bouncing off in the direction of the testing station with a final nervous wave over his shoulder. 

Dave shakes his head and pulls out his phone, flipping absently through Facebook and email while they wait. Despite Casey’s apparent nervousness, Dave knows Casey shouldn’t have any problems with the actual testing, especially since he’s using Paul’s Impala. 

If Dave remembers correctly, it takes about ten minutes to do the road test and another five or so to finish the course in the parking lot, so it’s not until fifteen minutes pass that he looks up at the people trickling in from testing. When Casey walks back through the door, he looks thrilled, and gives David and Paul an enthusiastic thumbs up. 

“I guess he passed,” Paul chuckles. 

“I think so,” Dave agrees, watching Casey follow the testing person to another station with the eye testing and picture taking. It seems to take them a few minutes to finish everything, and then Casey returns, waving his freshly printed license enthusiastically. 

“I passed! I passed! They had to take my picture _two times_!” Casey says. 

“Well done,” Paul nods. 

“Told you.” Dave shrugs. 

“You did tell me,” Casey says, nodding his head. “You were right.”

“Maybe you should listen to my predictions more often,” Dave grins. “Let’s see it.” He holds his hand out expectantly, and Casey carefully sets his license on Dave’s palm. It’s still a little warm and Dave can guess at why they took the picture twice. Even in this picture, Casey’s grin is so big that you can barely make out his eyes. He looks it over when it hits him suddenly that yes, Casey _is_ sixteen. He can drive. Dave sighs a little and hands it back to Casey with a slightly diminished grin. “Congratulations, Case. Want to get some celebratory ice cream?”

“ _Definitely!_ ” Casey says, tucking his license into his wallet. 

Paul laughs. “Never have known Casey to turn down ice cream!”

 

“We’re just not that big of a church, so all the kids are in these two rooms. Babies in here, and the toddlers and preschoolers right there. C’mon, it’s fun.” David grins and waves at one of the women in the baby room. “Just two babies, and only five kids in the other room. Unless it’s Advent or Easter. Then sometimes it’s three or four babies, and seven to nine little kids.”

Casey tries not to grimace, because David’s so enthusiastic and kind of adorable about the kids, but babies are just sort of _weird_. “Well, I guess,” is the best he can muster. 

“Hi, Miss May,” David greets the older lady in the toddler room. “Did any of them pay attention to your lesson today?”

“I had a prop,” Miss May answers with a smile. “They did. This is your friend that’s been coming with you and your father?”

“Yes, ma’am. This is Casey. Casey, this is Miss May.”

“Um. Hi, Miss May,” Casey says, extending his hand. “What was your prop?”

“Oh, I brought in this old lamb,” Miss May says as she shakes Casey’s hand. “And my shepherd’s crook.” Miss May smiles at the two of them. “They’re behaving quite well today, Dave. Tell your father I said hello.”

“I will, Miss May. Thank you.”

“David,” Casey whispers. “There’s a _lot_ of them and they are all very small.”

David chuckles under his breath. “There’s only five, Case. Bekah’s going to be in kindergarten next year, and I think Cameron will be, too. Lucy’s the youngest, and even she’s almost three.”

“They all look sort of, um. Sticky.” Casey looks at the kids, who all stare back at him disconcertingly, like little Children of the Corn or something like that. The littlest girl has a hair bow that’s as big as her head, and Casey’s pretty sure that isn’t normal.

“Nah, wait until after snacktime!” David says cheerfully. “Hey, guys!”

The little children all grin at David, though. “Hi Mr. Dave!” the oldest one says.

“Hi! This is my friend, Casey. Can you say hi to Mr. Casey?”

“I’m _Mr._ Casey?” 

“You _are_ older than they are,” David says, amused. 

“Not old enough to be a Mister, I don’t think.”

“Position of authority.” David shrugs. “Plus, you did just have a birthday.”

The little one with the giant bow grabs Casey by his pants leg. “David! She’s grabbing me.” He tries to move his leg and dislodge her, but she’s got a strong grip for a tiny person. She mumbles something that Casey can’t understand.

David laughs. “Case, she’s giving you a hug and saying ‘happy birthday’.”

It didn’t really sound anything like ‘happy birthday’ to him, and Casey’s not so sure that’s a hug and not some kind of weird toddler attack, but he does his best to smile at the girl clinging to his leg. “Um. Thanks. Which one is this one?”

“Lucy,” David supplies. “Her mom is Mrs. Stone?”

“The one with the shoes?” Casey asks. David nods. “Thank you, Lucy. David, how do I make her let go of my leg?”

“Try patting her back. She thinks you haven’t hugged back yet.” David shrugs and sits down in one of the chairs in the room, looking absolutely ridiculous in the child–sized chair. 

Casey awkwardly pats Lucy on the back a few times, and thankfully she lets go. Casey spends a moment or two staring at David in the tiny chair. “Do you always sit on those?”

David laughs. “Yeah. I used to be afraid I’d break ’em, but well, here we are four years later, and not a single broken chair yet.”

“You should get some of those for the house. We could sit in them all the time,” Casey says. “You look comfortable. Maybe we could get a tiny table, too, and we’ll just eat there.”

“I don’t think Dad would go for it, though.”

“We could gang up on him, two against one. What’s the point of having me there if I can’t be a second vote?” Casey sits in another of the tiny chairs. “So what do we do now? Just stare at them?”

“Well, they play for the first ten minutes or so, then usually I like to read them a story before snacktime. After snacktime, they watch a video.” He gestures to the television in the corner. “Sometimes I let Bekah and Cameron paint during the video.”

The one David called Cameron trots over to where Casey is sitting then. “Come play the bad guy!”

Casey looks at David. “How’s that work? Are there rules?” Cameron keeps looking at Casey expectantly. 

“Cameron will tell you what to do. Probably some variation of say ‘argh’ and holding your hands up like this.” David holds up his hands in some approximation of a scary monster on one of the late-night movies. 

“Just scary hands? Really?” Casey shakes his head. “Ok, Cameron. I can be the bad guy. You have to tell me what noises to make, though, ’cause I haven’t ever had to be the bad guy before.”

“Yay!” Cameron nods, tugging Casey towards Bekah and the others as Lucy toddles over and makes herself at home with blocks at David’s feet. Well, at least David knows what he’s doing.

 

“Are you _sure_ you feel okay?” Casey asks, for the fourth or fifth time. “You look kind of pale. I can drive if you need me to.”

“Nah, but maybe we’ll stop at Dairy King or something, get a milkshake. I probably should have actually eaten the free juice and cookies,” Dave admits sheepishly. 

“ _David_ , you need to _eat_ something! Don’t you know you’ve got to eat stuff when you give blood? People _eat_ when they give blood. It’s what they do at blood–giving time,” Casey says.

Dave laughs. “Yeah, yeah, yeah. It just seemed dumb to eat cookies so close to lunchtime, I don’t know. Plus I was still feeling queasy. I know it’s good to give blood, but I can’t stand looking at the process.”

Casey visibly shudders. “I don’t know if I could ever give blood. I just, I really don’t like blood. Not even a little bit. You were very brave. You should have eaten all the cookies.”

“Yeah, you only get three. Some people donate the cookies and juice instead of giving blood.”

“I’ll just donate cookies and juice then. Is that why they got the ‘I Tried’ stickers? Because they gave juice instead of blood?” Casey wrinkles his nose. “How do you _try_ to give blood? Maybe nothing comes out?”

“I think the ‘I Tried’ stickers are if you get turned down during the screening process. So you were willing, but they couldn’t accept your blood,” Dave answers. “You see someone with one of those?”

Casey nods. “Finn Hudson and then later some girls.”

“Hmm. Well, there’s some questions about traveling to different parts of the world for more than a certain length of time. Some other questions about different medical conditions.” Dave looks sidelong at Casey. “You know about those?”

“Medical conditions? Hmm. No, probably not. Oh, like, um. Malaria!” 

“Yeah, I think so. They want to screen out probable carriers of various things. A big one is people at risk for HIV infection.” Dave looks over at Casey again. “So they ask questions about behaviors. That put people at risk for HIV.”

“Ohhhh. Okay,” Casey says, nodding. “So doing needle drugs and unprotected, um, you know. Yeah, it’s probably good not to give blood if you do that.”

“Yeah. Or, well.” Dave grimaces slightly and shrugs. “One of the question is if you’re a man who.” He pauses. “ _You know_. With other men.”

“What? Why do they need to know that?” Casey sounds shocked and maybe a little outraged. “That’s really nosy. I don’t see how that’s any of their business.”

“It’s a risk factor. The way I understand it, there were some cases of HIV being transmitted by blood transfusions or something, back before we were born. The rules have been in place since then.” Dave shrugs, thinking. “I guess I can understand the concern, but yeah, it’s kind of invasive. And restrictive.”

“So, if you’re gay, you can’t give blood _at all_? I mean, if you’re, um, _actively_ gay instead of. Um. Theoretically?” Casey frowns. 

“Well, you can lie. Way I understand it, plenty of people do. Other people sort of pointedly go in to try to donate blood to get turned away.”

“Well, but that’s terrible. _Terrible_! That just isn’t right, David.” Casey sounds like he’s starting to get himself wound up. “Just because somebody’s gay and they… _you know_. That’s discrimination. Why aren’t people mad about that?”

Dave shrugs. “I think there was talk about changing the guidelines at some point? I’m sure some people are mad about it, but so far, it’s stayed the same. Like I said, plenty of people just lie. Given how advanced testing is now versus the ’80s, that doesn’t _seem_ irresponsible, but I really haven’t looked into it.”

“I’d just lie,” Casey says, firmly. “I’d look in their faces and I’d lie. If, you know, it were an issue. Which it’s not, since I’m not old enough to give blood, and, um. Also that.”

“Well, you can Google it or whatever, make sure.” Dave turns into the Dairy King parking lot with a tiny sigh of relief. A milkshake _does_ sound like a really good plan. “I don’t know—” He stops himself. “Well, just, you wonder,” he finishes lamely.

“Oh, I wonder about all sorts of stuff,” Casey agrees. 

Dave laughs. “Yeah. But right now I’m just wondering which flavor you’re getting today.”

“Something interesting. Milkshakes should be interesting.”

 

Casey puts an assortment of cookies onto a plate and then sits down on the sofa next to David. “Here, they had oatmeal raisin,” he says, offering the plate to David. 

David takes two of the oatmeal cookies and takes a bite from one. “Thanks,” he mumbles after a second. “Not everyday people think to get oatmeal raisin.”

“Maybe I can find out who brought the cookies this time and I’ll tell them thanks, and then they’ll bring them again,” Casey offers. He nibbles on a sugar cookie for a while. “It’s quiet here today.”

“Yeah, it’s a little later,” David nods. 

“Well, hey you two!” April says, standing in front of them suddenly. “Just you two this week, last week just your friend.”

“Which friend?” Casey asks. “We have a friend?”

“The one that thinks he’s all that? Feet or Yards or something.”

“You mean Miles?” 

“Miles!” April snaps her fingers. “Yep, him. You didn’t bring him along this time, huh?”

“He won’t stop bitching about the guy dating his sister,” David says. “Even though he’s the one that introduced them!”

“Ha!” April seems to really enjoy that. “Well, I asked him where his cute friend was, and he just went on and on about you,” she adds, looking at David. 

Casey starts laughing at the completely incredulous look on David’s face. “Oh, _David_! Miles has a crush on you!”

“I just report things as I observe them. Or whatever,” April laughs, shrugging. “He wasn’t here long, though.”

“You guys got tired of him too?” David asks, almost like he’s not sure if he’s joking or not. 

“Nope! He found a new ‘friend’, if you catch my drift.”

“It’s good that Miles is meeting some new people,” Casey says. “Then they can listen to him complain about Rick and Alicia. I think that would be nice for everybody.”

“Oh, you are a cutie-pie!” April declares. “It was the kind of friend you just make for one day.”

“A friend for one day? That doesn’t really sound like— Oh!” Casey does a very good job of not at all looking in David’s direction. “Well, that’s. Um. Very nice for Miles, I guess.” And there goes his stupid face again, probably bright red. April might be doing that on purpose, come to think of it. 

“Austin seemed to think so,” April laughs. “You should ask him about his new friend Austin.”

“I think I’ll pass,” David says, shaking his head. 

Casey thinks about it for moment. “I think I’ll see if he brings it up, first. Then I’ll ask polite questions if he does.”

“Okay, sweetie,” April agrees. “You send a picture of his face when you do. And a picture of his, too,” she adds, jutting her thumb towards David. “You can ask Kurt or Puck for my email.”

“Sure, I can do that!” Casey says. “Well, probably not of David’s face. I don’t think it would be any different from his normal face he makes at Miles. There’s a Miles face.” In fact, David is making the Miles face right now. “See? Just like that.”

“What?” David asks. “What Miles face?”

“The face you make when Miles talks, or somebody talks about Miles,” Casey says. “Like now. Like you could make it to the door really fast if we’d look in the other direction.”

“Huh.” David appears to be considering doing just that, but instead he takes another bite of his cookie. 

“It’s okay. Sometimes I want to hide from Miles, too. He’s very…” Casey looks for the right word. “Um. He’s very.”

“He’s very Miles,” David concludes.

“And he’s great in small amounts,” Casey adds. “Like eggs. And jazz music.”

David laughs. “Yeah. Just not all three at the same time.”

“Wouldn’t that be _awful_?” Casey asks. He turns on the couch so his legs are propped up over the arm and his head is resting on David’s knee. “That would be so bad. Wouldn’t it be bad, April?” April doesn’t answer, because April isn’t there. Casey looks up at David from his very comfortable knee–pillow. 

“Guess she went to find some cookies or something,” David shrugs. 

“Well, if she’s looking for sugar cookies, too bad for her. I took them _all_.”


End file.
